


A Deciphering Flame

by printers_devil



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Conspiracy, Crests (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), F/M, Fish out of Water, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25944637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/printers_devil/pseuds/printers_devil
Summary: At Garreg Mach, Claude takes every opportunity he can to dig into the mysteries of Crests—and in the process, he stumbles upon not one, but two of Edelgard von Hresvelg's big secrets.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Claude von Riegan, Hilda Valentine Goneril & Claude von Riegan, Judith von Daphnel & Claude von Riegan
Comments: 47
Kudos: 116
Collections: 2020 Ultra Rarepair Big Bang





	1. I am trying to break you

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Ultra Rarepair bang. This fic is completely finished, and will be posted weekly until it's all up, so fear not the dangling WIP. My amazing artist, AtomicHush, made a beautiful piece for it that you can find [here](https://twitter.com/AtomicHush/status/1301680010772840450?s=20)! Thank you so much for your encouragement, enthusiasm, and patience, comrade, I appreciate it more than I can say. And thanks to signalbeam for being my very kind beta! 
> 
> This isn't exactly a Golden Route story. Call it Silver Route.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude von Riegan yeets himself headlong into trouble.

It came down to this: no matter what Claude read, what research he stole, or who he asked, every answer he got about his Crest led to more questions. Usually the answers were "Because the Goddess wills it" or "Look, kid, I have no idea, go do your homework or something." They'd come from the progenitor god, and that was that. Book open and shut. 

It couldn't be that simple. People here in Fódlan were so weird about them, there had to be more to it. Even Hanneman seemed more interested in getting his hands on samples than in the question of _what a Crest was_ \--and Claude donated a lot of blood to the cause--and Linhardt von Hevring was glad to talk about Crests, but he also had more questions than means at his disposal to investigate them. 

The Crest of Riegan just kept Claude's energy up in the middle of a fight, so far as he could tell. His mother had it too, apparently, and she wasn't very illuminating about it in her infrequent letters.

 _No one in Almyra cares, so I didn't see any need to tell you,_ she wrote. _Say hello to Failnaught for me._ And then she'd gone on for two next two pages about renovations to the royal smithy and millet and flax yields in the northeast. 

The longer he spent here, in the Church of Seiros's sweaty armpit, the weirder things got. Hero's Relics alone were a huge gap in the story, and yet, no one questioned them. Grandfather wouldn't let him anywhere near Failnaught until he was legitimated, so that avenue of investigation was out. 

There was Thunderbrand, but Catherine didn't really talk to the Golden Deer. There was the Sword of the Creator; he had classes with Professor Byleth, but she was the Black Eagles' teacher, and he couldn't very well walk up to her and ask, _Hey, Professor, can I see your enormous holy sword thought lost for a thousand years and ask a bunch of questions about it?_

One free day, Claude tried anyway. Professor Byleth looked up from her contemplation of the fishpond, gave him two slow blinks, and shrugged. 

"It's a sword," she said. "It does one thing." 

"What about the lack of a Crest stone?" he asked. 

She shrugged again, then squinted at her line in the water, and Claude took the hint. 

So that had been less than helpful. If he wasn't going to get any concrete answers, he could at least watch his classmates. 

Sometimes, Marianne landed a big cracking hit on someone in lance practice and fell into a three-day fit of despair about it, which suggested that she did have a Crest, she was just hiding it. Hilda lifted and swung battleaxes that her small frame shouldn't have been able to handle, and she went toe-to-toe with Dimitri without a problem in general weapons practice when she didn't weasel her way out of being paired up with him. 

And Lysithea was just _too_ powerful. The Crest of Charon was something, if it made her magic that strong. 

He tried his best to get himself sent on with the Black Eagles' trip to Gautier territory, to--hopefully--see the Lance of Ruin and the Sword of the Creator in action at the same time, but Professor Manuela wouldn't spare him. Professor Byleth ignored him, and Edelgard, whom he didn't talk much to in the first place, refused to intercede on his behalf. 

"If you're going to be a house leader, be _your_ house's leader," she said coolly, when he found her in the Black Eagles' classroom working into the evening. "The Golden Deer could certainly learn from my class's example in discipline. Perhaps you could join us for a mock battle; I'm certainly not bringing you along on an important mission when your own class needs so much guidance." 

"Ouch, Princess," he said. "I'll take my leave, then." 

"Please do." 

But that was just what the Her Imperial Highness was like with him and Dimitri. She was determined not to get close to either of them, and no amount of polite overtures on Dimitri's part or jokes on Claude's could crack through that shell. Dimitri was too earnest for her, Claude was too slippery. There was no winning. He'd charm her yet; he had seven more months. He had a few questions about the Crest of Seiros, after all. 

So he spent that week in the Empire, piling sandbags in preparation for the Airmid's yearly flood and chasing bandits off from the village they were working in. It was boring, but it gave him time to wonder about the Lance of Ruin and prod his classmates for information. 

Lorenz was glad to talk about House Gloucester's relic, the great Thrysus, whose wielder had turned back an entire Imperial army at the Great Bridge of Myrddin in the time of Emperor Bernhard, whenever that was. Hilda threw in a little bit about Freikugel, but mostly she said it was "creepy" and "not even Holst uses it, it's a lot to handle." None of what they said was conclusive or militarily useful--if he wanted to become king, a great first step would be to mount a successful attack on the Alliance--but it was interesting, and it made the hours pass. 

-

It was easy to get Linhardt talking about Crests, but you couldn't control what came out of his mouth when you got him going. Claude had come to ask questions about the Black Beast at Conand Tower, and the connection between demonic beasts and Crest stones. The conversation had drifted toward Thunderbrand in action (good), then veered suddenly toward the material on Crests in the library (bad). He'd managed to get Linhardt back to Thunderbrand when Linhardt started yawning. 

That was the death knell of the talk. Claude waited for Linhardt to slump over his books and papers, tested one of Linhardt's hands to make sure he was actually asleep, and eased Linhardt's stack of notebooks toward his side of the table. 

The best part of hanging out with Linhardt in the library was that it granted Claude a kind of invisibility: because the library staff had given up trying to keep Linhardt from taking his naps at the tables, they all just pretended he wasn't there. This let Claude go about his business in relative peace, without his choices in reading material being remarked upon. 

The notebooks' contents mostly retreaded what he'd already gleaned on his own and from reading through Hanneman's papers. There were brief notes on everyone, observations on their abilities, a whole page dedicated to Marianne's mystery Crest, and a very good sketch of what was definitely Dimitri's torso,. Claude also spent a lot of time looking when Dimitri had his shirt off, and didn't blame Linhardt one bit.

And, folded in half, there was one page dedicated to Lysithea. 

_Minor Charon: rain. Second Crest ??????? obviously Major._

Nobody had two Crests. Claude had heard this over and over: Crests were a rare blessing from the Goddess's hand on her chosen, yeah, yeah, if they showed up in three consecutive generations it was a miracle.

This was just a little scribble in on one single page, but it might explain a lot about why Lysithea was just so good, and so defensive, too. Maybe Hanneman suspected it too, but he was too wise to put it to paper. 

Claude decided to do what he always did, which was just ask. 

Every time Lysithea saw him in the library, she looked annoyed, never mind that he spent as much time here as she did. The Riegan manor's library had only contained ledgers, histories of the Alliance, and three well-thumbed novels about horses with his mother's name on the inside cover. Here, he had a chance to read books from all over Fódlan, even if you had to be fast before Seteth found the good stuff. Tomas the Librarian somehow managed to get all kinds of things on the shelf for curious students to read, despite the weekly rampage. 

_"_ Linhardt's onto you," he said, kicking his feet up on the table across from her. She was almost hidden behind a pile of books, and was copying two marked up drafts of an essay for Professor Manuela. She didn't look like she'd been sleeping much, and if she was still here after dinner, Claude was coming back with another installment of the story of the ghost in Garreg Mach's library. 

"This isn't a stable, Claude," Lysithea said. "As for Linhardt, I have no idea what you could mean." 

"Nah, I suppose you wouldn't pick up on that kind of thing. Princesses--noble heroes--like you are too honest to notice when someone around them is being sketchy." 

"You are only two years older than me!" Lysithea said. "We've been over this. Don't treat me like a child." 

Claude a little bad about prodding her, but not bad enough to stop. "Is it two? Or is it three? I can't keep track. Please, Lysithea, help me with my math. Or maybe I'll just go have our pal Linhardt do it instead?"

Lysithea raised both hands in a gesture of peace. "We're not talking about this here," she said.

When they were in a more private place, after a little more questioning, he got her to admit that yes, she had a second Crest. A little more questioning, and the whole awful story came spilling out her: the strange, pale-faced administrators, the rituals, the changes to her body, her Major Crest of Gloucester. She did have two Crests. Her hair had been black. She wasn't going to live very long. 

"And if you tell anyone, I'll turn you into pastry flour," Lysithea said. "There! Are you happy?" 

Claude had so many more questions, but Lysithea had looked so miserable when she'd told him--all the children in her House eaten up to make her, just because those people had the power--and now her shoulders were hunched, and she wasn't meeting his eyes. He knew a thing or two about being a scared, powerless kid, but if he tried to drop that into the conversation, he had the feeling she wouldn't take it well. 

"Come on, no need for threats," Claude replied. "I'm just glad you trusted me enough to tell me."

"Don't go treating me like I'm made of glass just because you know." She brushed her white hair over her shoulders and seemed to settle back into herself.

"I wouldn't dream of it. Besides, who could upstage Hilda as the delicate flower of the Golden Deer?"

Lysithea snorted. "Just forget all about it." 

Nah, Claude would just mention to Lorenz that Lysithea was looking a little frail, but that Claude's simple, simple mind couldn't imagine could possibly be done about it. Lorenz would trip all over himself to drown her in restorative teas and bury her in cakes for the good of the Alliance. That part was easy. 

The hard part was deciding what to do with this information. Okay, so Lysithea was impossible and should not have existed at all. People without Crests turned into horrible monsters when they tried to use Hero's Relics. 

Someone else at Garreg Mach had pure white hair like Lysithea's: somebody he'd never had a full conversation with that wasn't about their respective classes' performance in the last mock battle or how he was needed to make sure the Golden Deer showed up on time for their chores. Somebody who could be found every night in the Black Eagles' classroom, and who _hated_ being disturbed, which was all the more reason to go bother her. 

-

The moon was high, the green outside the classrooms was deserted, and, most importantly, Hubert wasn't lurking. A perfect night for an ambush. If Claude was wrong, he was wrong; the worst thing that could happen was that he looked a little stupid. If he was right, then there were two people at Garreg Mach who shouldn't have existed, and that opened up whole new avenues for investigation. After all, what did it mean for some hypothetical war at some point in the future if there were lots of these two-crested people around in Fódlan, actually? He owed it to himself to do the work and find out. 

"So, Princess," Claude said, bowing before Edelgard, who sat at the end of the long bench like it was a throne. "What's it like having two Crests?" 

Edelgard looked up at him, her lavender eyes clear and unblinking. Her hands were covered in inkspots, and she moved to cover her papers before he could read them. They were letters, not class notes. Maybe there was a suitor back in Enbarr she wrote to, who knew. 

"What an interesting question, Claude," she said. "Tell me, what is it like to be an Almyran prince at Garreg Mach?" 

All right, he hadn't been expecting _that,_ but there was nothing to do but roll with the blow. "Wow, that was quick," he replied. "It only took someone five months to figure it out." 

"I had you investigated, of course." Edelgard's back was very straight as Claude sat down next to her on the bench. "I'd assumed you were just a Riegan by-blow with a lucky Crest, but the truth is much more interesting. Why hide it? Petra doesn't." 

"I don't know if you'd noticed, but Almyra and the Alliance aren't too friendly," he said. "Being from Almyra doesn't help my case if I want to become Duke Riegan." A year of losing his accent and Judith's constant lessons on who was who in Alliance politics had only just barely helped his case. He'd gotten word just days ago that the Five Great Lords had voted to legitimize him, which was only kind of a relief. "Anyway, seeing as I'm being so open and honest with you, you may as well tell me about your Crests." 

"I can't see that you've told me anything that I didn't already know." 

"So you _do_ have two Crests, is what I'm getting here." 

"I never said I did." 

"You didn't _not_ say it." 

Edelgard sighed in disgust. "Please leave, Claude," she said. "I have quite a lot of work to do, and I'm sure you do, too. You'll never move into the advanced axe class if you keep slacking." 

Okay, that was a cheap, cheap shot. Raphael, who'd never picked up a weapon before Garreg Mach, had gotten to advanced axe training before Claude. 

"See, you know how I know?" Claude said. "I had a little chat with Lysithea. Makes me wonder what kind of people could do that to the Imperial Princess, too. Who knows what kind of digging a lazy guy like me might start doing he was motivated enough?" 

Edelgard's face was already pale, and it went paler. Bull's-eye. "Lysithea... please take good care of her, Claude." 

She'd clammed up, though. Her gaze was distant. Fortunately, he had a contingency plan for this. The lighting was right, he'd mussed up his hair, and he'd left the jacket off for just such a situation. He knew how his arms looked when he flexed. 

"At least tell me what your Crests are," Claude said, and he sat himself down on the bench next to her. He put his elbow down on the table, right next to her inkwell, and Edelgard's eyes dipped downward. "Look, Your Highness, I won't tell anyone. Your secret's safe with me. But you already knew mine, so why don't we get to know each other better, house leader to house leader?" 

To his surprise, Edelgard's ears turned a deep pink. "Flirting with me will get you nowhere. Get out," she snapped.

"I try to flirt with you once a week, believe me, I know it doesn't work," he said. It was working now. "I'm going, I'm going, see you tomorrow." 

\- 

After that night, Edelgard floated above and past Claude's further attempts at conversation. Like magic, and probably using actual magic, Hubert was always at hand with some very important Black Eagles business Edelgard had to attend to at that very second whenever Claude was around. Dorothea flirted with Claude more than usual, too, until Claude neutralized that threat by introducing her to Hilda. 

If Edelgard wasn't going to talk to him, Claude would just make himself unavoidable. 

In exchange for covering for her with Seteth on a very hungover morning, Professor Manuela signed off on his moving up to advanced axe practice. Manuela had sighed cryptically about young love and gone back to catching up on grading their papers. With a boxful of Derdriu shortbread Claude gotten at market, he got Professor Jeritza to agree to pair him with Edelgard. 

He shouldn't have bothered with the bribe, because Jeritza very obviously did not care who was fighting whom. But he had warned Claude: "If you fight Edelgard, her axe will taste your blood," he'd said. "This failure will be... instructive." 

-

As it turned out, advanced axe practice was first thing in the morning, and it was where Edelgard got out all of her frustrations. When she saw Claude, she looked for all the world as though a monastery cat had vomited directly into her mouth. 

Claude lost every bout. The failure was not instructive. 

"Claude, come on," Hilda said, after the first day, dragging him to Marianne to get his bruises healed before anyone could see them. Marianne wasn't answering her door, and the two of them looked like idiots. "If this is a some kind of scheme, it's stupid and you should give it up." 

"I'm fine," Claude said, "really. I know what I'm doing." 

"She's usually not that hard on people, not even me." Hilda banged on Marianne's door again. "Raphael isn't as good as everyone else, and she's super nice to him, actually. Ugh, I bet Marianne's hiding in the stables again. What'd you do to make Edelgard mad?" 

"What do I ever do to make anyone mad? Hilda, Hilda, everybody loves me." 

Hilda gave him a very piercing look. For about half a second, he wanted to tell her absolutely everything, and then he got over it. He trusted her, but not that much; someone who effortlessly coordinated a battalion of people to do her chores for her while still protesting her uselessness was formidable. Also, Claude didn't want to get too cozy with the heir presumptive to the Goneril family. He might go back to Almyra after all. He didn't want to face Hilda down as a friend. 

Still, Hilda didn't get weird about the mystery Riegan thing. That was nice. He could count on her to fill him in on any cultural details Judith hadn't gotten to, like who Kyphon was and why he should care about the latest novel about him and King Loog. 

Edelgard had bruised Claude's ribs that day. She did worse the next day. 

Claude wasn't bad with an axe. Over the next two weeks, he should have been able to score at least one win over Edelgard, but he didn't even get close. Edelgard wasn't perfect. Professor Jeritza chided her, in his slow, dispassionate way, both for rushing through fights and not thinking through her approach and her technique, and for toying too much with Claude before she finished him off. 

"I tire of this. Give me a challenge or go back to the intermediate class," Edelgard spat, the morning of the second week. 

The bout had lasted seconds. Claude's axe had gone flying in the first strike, the second had stunned him, and the third saw him on his back on the stone ground with the handle of her axe pressed into his throat. 

She had a devouring flame in her eyes. Her weight holding him down was negligible, but there was something _off_ about her, something genuinely predatory. Twin Crests, he thought, freezing and laying very still beneath her. She'd drawn on both of them for that speed and precision. If he could control his own like that... he had a long way to go. 

Next time he wanted to get under Edelgard's skin and crack that royal facade, he'd pick something a little less painful. She'd probably broken his hand, but, hey, at least Marianne was getting a lot of practice in. 

No one was paying attention to them. Petra and Hilda were going at it in earnest on the other end of the training ground, which was much more interesting to the rest of the class than round fifty of Edelgard pulverizing Claude. 

"You want to kill me right now, don't you," Claude said. That'd be nothing new. 

"Stop digging, Khalid," she said, pressing in a little harder. "Please, let it go." 

No one but Nader had called him that in more than a year. He'd have time to feel emotion about that when he wasn't being choked out in public. Right now, he was just glad he didn't have a boner. 

"Look," he said. He lifted his neck just enough to put his hands behind his head, to really settle in and relax, and Edelgard's beautiful face twisted in irritation. "If you're going to do it, do it. But before you murder me in front of all our classmates, tell me why I can't win a fight against you." 

One of Edelgard's eyebrows rose. Her face composed itself before his very eyes, and she took her axe from his throat. Claude massaged the skin there. Across the yard, Raphael cheered Hilda on. 

"You're not awful. Against anyone else, you might have a chance. But when you use the axe, it's obvious that you're thinking of it as a sword fight." She sat down next to him. Her profile in the early morning light, her little upturned nose, the way she brushed a stray silver hair impatiently behind her ear--"You need to stop. The axe isn't a pleasant weapon, Claude. It isn't a fight of attrition. If I haven't incapacitated my opponent in the first three strikes, the fight is lost already. I'm not trying to duel you, I am trying to _break_ you." 

From anybody else, that little speech would have been melodramatic. From Edelgard, it was still melodramatic, but she spoke with complete conviction, as though she was on stage addressing an imaginary audience. Well, that was royalty for you. Claude stood and offered her his hand, and she stared at it, uncomprehending, before she allowed him to help her up.

He didn't let go. Neither did she. The beige training uniforms did no one's body any favors, but he was aware of how thin they made Edelgard look, and just how many times she could have broken him in the past two weeks. He'd been playing with fire, and the fire had taken pity on him. 

"Hilda is winning," Edelgard said, breaking the contact. She racked her training axe, and his, too, and began her cooldown stretches. "Get ready to congratulate her, or she'll be insufferable tomorrow morning." 

"Got it," Claude said, and they joined the crowd just in time to see Hilda deliver a clean underhanded blow that sent Petra sprawling into the dirt. 

"An acceptable performance," Professor Jeritza said, once the cheering from the Golden Deer in the class died down. "I will see you both for a more detailed assessment after practice." 

"Ugh, can we make it quick? I'm so sweaty," Hilda said, pulling her shirt away from her torso and looking pitiful. 

"That," Professor Jeritza said, "is not my problem." 

\- 

So, of course, no one could have foreseen that the sinister masked professor with no interest in talking to anyone but weapons and murder was secretly the Death Knight, agent of the nefarious forces had decided to work against the Church this year. Flayn got kidnapped, Professor Manuela got stabbed. Of course there was a secret passageway under all their noses, and of course Professor Byleth and the Black Eagles got the glory of finding this out and riding in for the rescue. 

Professor Manuela was fine, at least. Claude paused in the doorway to the infirmary. A healer dressed in the robes of a Knight of Seiros nodded her permission for him to come in. His heart was pounding, and not just because he'd run all the way here from the greenhouse. Manuela was so good to him, and to all the Golden Deer who needed a little extra kindness at Garreg Mach. 

One of her hands rested over her stomach where the wound must have been. Hilda held Manuela's other hand. and Edelgard sat on the opposite side of the bed, her arms crossed over her chest, scowling. She looked relieved to see him, and she stood up--a little fast, in his opinion.

"If you'll pardon me, Professor, I need to see to my classmates," Edelgard said. "They've been underground for an hour, and there's been no word from them." 

That was a perfectly reasonable request, but Manuela coughed feebly. The healer rolled her eyes. Edelgard sat back down. 

"No, stay," Manuela said, with a very good quaver in her voice. "Claude, we've been talking about my career. Why, if I should die here... you four may be the last people in Fódlan to hear the Divine Songstress's voice. 

"It sounds like Hilda here has been describing the victory aria from _The Falcon Knight's Bride._ Why, I played the role of Emperor Iris so many times, I could do it in my sleep." And she sang: " _You who are encased in ice, who have been conquered by such flame...."_

Her voice wobbled, but her tone was clear and pure. Even the healer sat up and paid attention. 

"That's amazing, Teach," Claude said. He'd heard her in the choir, but never just on her own. 

Edelgard nodded politely. "The Divine Songstress, indeed," she said. "Feel better soon, Professor Manuela." 

Then she took her leave. Claude stayed with Manuela and Hilda for a while, until the healer shooed the two of them out, because laughter would make Manuela pull her stitches. 

"If Professor Jeritza is evil now, do you think axe practice is canceled?" Hilda asked, on their way down the steps and back to the dormitories. 

"Nah, they'll get a Knight of Seiros to do it. Or Seteth." 

"Seteth won't let us get away with anything." Hilda sighed. "Did Edelgard seem weird to you? Weirder than usual?" 

"Not really," Claude said, but Hilda's Edelgard sense had been right before. 

"I don't know, she couldn't wait to leave, but she apologized to Professor Manuela twice before you got there. Have you _ever_ heard her apologize? Because I haven't." 

"Sure," he said, and let Hilda talk him back into the taking the dishes she'd stolen back to the kitchen for her. He deposited them in his room along with the ones he'd stolen, and then peeked out into the hallway. 

Nobody was around. Edelgard would be back in the Knights' Quarters waiting for the Black Eagles to resurface. It couldn't hurt to have a quick poke through her room, not that he expected to see her second Crest embroidered into her underwear along with her initials. 

The door wasn't locked, so he eased it open. 

It was tidy. There were flowers on the desk. A very large white magic textbook lay open on her bed. Edelgard, black-robed, stood in the middle of the room, lifting a mask to her face. She turned and saw him, and hissed, " _You."_

And at the exact same moment, Professor Hanneman came up the stairs, and said, "Claude?" 

Claude looked at Edelgard. He looked at Hanneman, walking down the hallway toward them. 

_Oh, hey, Professor,_ he could say. _Edelgard here looks like she's up to something incredibly evil right now, maybe you want to take a look at this?_

But he kept his mouth shut. Edelgard knew something about Crests that she wasn't telling him, and he'd exhausted the sum total of Hanneman's knowledge. Edelgard was a _puzzle_ , a puzzle who was about to get caught doing something bad. 

Fortunately, Hanneman paused well before he got to Edelgard's room. He looked out a window and stroked his beard. "Professor Manuela is resting peacefully," he said. "I thought you should know. She hasn't been as fond of a student as she is of you in quite some time, young man." 

"That's good to know," Claude said, glancing at Edelgard from the corner of his eye. Still there, still hadn't moved. "On both counts. Thanks." 

"She's tough as a stew chicken," Hanneman went on. "Don't you worry." 

Hanneman shuffled away, back down the stairs. Only when Claude couldn't hear him anymore did Edelgard speak. 

"Claude," she said. She affixed the mask to her face. Her voice changed, deepened, when she said, "You've almost made me late _."_

And that was the last thing he heard before the butt of her axe came down on his head. 

\- 

When he awoke, he was tied up on Edelgard's bed. His skull was pounding. It was night, and he opened his eyes to see Edelgard and Hubert conferring in the light of a single candle. Edelgard was still dressed in her creepy robes, and her eyes were hard and cold. 

"You've seen something you shouldn't have," Hubert said, pulling the chair up to the side of the bed. He had a long, slender knife in his hand, and he tested the point of it on his fingertip through his black gloves, which seemed like they were for murdering. "How unfortunate for you." 

"That's a little much," Claude said. 

Hubert made a sound that Claude hated to describe as a _dark chuckle._ "Perhaps," he said. "And perhaps you think you can still talk your way out of this. I am here to tell you that you cannot." 

"Oh, come on, you're not actually going to kill me." The ropes binding him were rough, and he could not find any give in them, which meant he couldn't reach the knife in his boot. Clearly, one or both of them had done this before. Claude went on, "I could have ratted Edelgard out to Professor Hanneman. I didn't. There'll be a lot of questions if the next Duke Riegan goes missing." 

"How willing you are to stake your life on that. Students die at the Officer's Academy," Hubert replied. "That's the risk one takes when one sends one's child to Garreg Mach." 

There was a bang on the door. Edelgard and Hubert both turned to look. There was another bang on the door, and then someone jiggled the handle, and then an axe head burst through the lock. 

Hilda stood in the doorway, barefoot in a lacy nightgown, her pink hair piled in a tight, high bun. She had never been more perfect to Claude, if only for the stunned look on his captors' faces. 

"Excuse you," Hilda said, leveling the axe between the two of them. "That's my house leader you're threatening. I don't know how to use this thing, but I'll try my best!" 

"Hilda," Edelgard said, pressing her palm into her face. "Please, we're in the same axe practice." 

"And we're also neighbors. These walls are basically made out of paper? You and Hubert here aren't _that_ quiet when you're copying each other's history homework, or whatever you're doing in here when you're talking about the fate of Fódlan! Let Claude go, or I'm suddenly going to remember how to split foreheads." 

"Edelgard is up to something," Claude said, just in case Hilda had to run. "I think she had something to do with Professor Manuela getting stabbed, look at the robes." 

"Yeah, they're ugly," said Hilda. She clicked her tongue. "What are those, bedsheets? Who's your tailor?" 

"No one is splitting anyone's forehead," Edelgard said through gritted teeth. "My robes are fine." 

Hilda sighed. "They're not. Also, can we light another candle? If I have to squint, I'm going to get wrinkles." 

"Lady Edelgard," Hubert cut in. "Perhaps... we should discuss what we're going to do with them."

"Oh, great, _now_ we're having a discussion. Can we do that after you've untied me?" 

Hubert used the long knife to cut Claude's bonds, and Claude sat up, massaging his wrists. Hilda dropped herself onto Edelgard's bed next to him, axe in hand. 

"So, if you weren't up to something, you wouldn't have said you were late and knocked me out," Claude said. "I think I've showed you some good faith by not ratting you out to Professor Hanneman, you should return the favor. It's not like you're working with the Western Church, or anything." 

Edelgard gave him a very blank look that told him everything he needed to know. 

"Goddess," he said--that felt wrong on his tongue, he was never going to say that again--"you're working with the Western Church? To kidnap Flayn?" 

"More precisely," Edelgard said, "the Western Church is working for me." 

"My lady," Hubert said. 

"I know what I'm doing, Hubert." 

Hubert looked skeptical. "As you say." 

And then Edelgard gave them the rundown: the Church of Seiros had been secretly manipulating Fódlan for a thousand years. It had manufactured the Kingdom of Faerghus and then the Leicester Alliance to keep the people divided and under its thumb.The Knights of Seiros were answerable to only the Archbishop, and had been used to commit terrible crimes: the tentpole of force that propped up the Church's lies. The Crest system itself was corrupt, and it elevated the undeserving and discarded talented individuals because of accidents of their blood. The Church used this, too, to keep the people of Fódlan under their control. 

Edelgard's face shone in the candlelight. If he looked away from her, Claude thought, she'd be seared into his vision; he'd see her afterimage in the dark. 

Now, he'd been expecting something a little smaller, like "robing up to steal some the lost Hero's Relic of House Hresvelg" or "sneaking off to cut a political deal, which they weren't supposed to do at Garreg Mach," but this sort of made sense, too. Edelgard did write a lot of letters, and _someone_ had experimented on her. The Church? He didn't have all the pieces. He could play along until he did. 

Hubert helped her out the heavy robes as she spoke, unbuckling her breastplate and laying her weapons aside neatly, and jealousy surged in Claude, hot and sudden. Edelgard had Hubert, Dimitri had Dedue. There was no one here he'd trust to do something like this for him. He hadn't had so much as a valet since he was fourteen. 

"I hope you realize how this sounds," Claude said, when she was done. Hilda had lain down next to him on Edelgard's bed about a minute into the speech, and she made an agreeing noise. "You're going to overthrow the Church? You're not even Emperor yet."

"There is time still to kill them both," Hubert said quietly, folding the robes in the corner. 

"Yet," Edelgard said, ignoring Hubert. She stood before the two of them in a sleeveless shirt and trousers, and her chin was tilted proudly. Hubert took a deep red robe from the back of the chair and slid it over her shoulders, and she accepted it seemingly without thought, tying it around her narrow waist.

This was a lot to take in. 

"Well," Claude said, because he couldn't give in too easy, "we all have dreams we want to achieve. Good luck." 

Hilda was dozing off. 

"Is that all? 'Good luck'?" said Edelgard.

"What do you want me to say? Don't get me wrong, this is all very plausible, but sounds like a big power grab to me." 

"It isn't a _power grab_ ," Edelgard said, "it's a fight for the very soul of Fódlan. Too long have we labored in the Church's shadow--" 

"That's exactly what someone making a power grab would say," Hilda piped up. "Why tell us?" 

"Because you're far too lazy to do anything about it," Edelgard said. Hilda nodded in reluctant agreement. "And I think that Claude might be sympathetic to my position."

"Yeah?" Claude rubbed at his wrists. 

"I can't imagine that you have any deep attachment to the Church of Seiros." 

"If it's the choice between finding some sympathy for your position and getting thrown off the side of the mountain, I'll take the sympathy," Claude said. 

"I'd rather you came willingly to my cause." 

"Well, you should have thought about that before you knocked me out and tied me up." There, that was probably enough naysaying. "Listen, you make some good points. I didn't know about my Crest until a year ago, and I didn't feel any lack of it in my life." 

Edelgard looked mollified. 

Hilda roused herself and sidled off of the bed. "Um, I need kind of want to wake up in time for black magic practice tomorrow, so can you three work this conspiracy stuff out on your own? Delicate maidens like me don't think about this kind of stuff, it's so complicated...." 

"'Night, Hilda," Claude said. "I'll yell if they try to murder me again." 

"I'll be sleeping, save yourself!" Hilda said cheerfully, and left with her axe before anyone could stop her. 

And then Claude was all alone, facing two people who were a lot scarier than he'd given them credit for. 

"So," he said. "How about that violent revolt against the Church of Seiros." 

"You understand," said Edelgard, "that I can't trust your word that you'll keep silent on the matter."

"I wouldn't trust me either." 

"Then we've found some common ground." 

"First step in a negotiation!" 

"This isn't a negotiation," Hubert said, and Edelgard hushed him. 

Claude was too tired for this. His head was still pounding. He was definitely skipping archery practice tomorrow morning. 

"How about this," Claude said. "I've got questions about Crests. You obviously hate Crests, so I'm guessing you know a lot more about them than I do. You give me answers, I keep my big mouth shut. The more answers, the longer my mouth stays shut. Sound like a deal?" 

Edelgard looked unconvinced. That was fine. The more single-minded she thought him, the easier she'd be to manipulate later on. 

"And when I run out of things to tell you?" she asked. 

"Then we can reassess the terms of the deal," he said. "I'm sure you'll have something else I want." 

"You'll sell yourself so cheaply for a bit of knowledge," Edelgard said. "Very well. It's a low price for me--I'll accept, for the moment. Betray me, and I'll do so much worse than throw you off a mountain." 

-

Claude did not sleep well that night. He woke up with his throat unslit, which was something. Here he was, a foreign prince, the presumptive next leader of about a third of Fodlan, sitting on the juiciest, most important piece of information on the continent. 

He skipped all of his classes, and he wandered around the monastery, listening. Everyone was talking about some mysterious Flame Emperor showing up in front of the Black Eagles, calling off the Death Knight, declaring himself the fire that would remake Fodlan, and leaving. That explained the costume. 

He'd gotten out of Edelgard's room alive by saying sure, massive war against the Church of Seiros, sounds great, love it. There might be more, and more answers, to gain from the Church if he blew her in to Seteth. 

At home, he wouldn't have hesitated even for a second to use this as leverage, to play both sides off each other. He knew exactly where he stood with his family, and it was nowhere good. His parents left him to fight his own battles, and he took every weapon he could get to find some advantage. Maybe this place was making him as soft as his eldest sister always said he was. 

_Never stay your hand, Khalid,_ she'd said, the first time he'd bested her in a duel. He'd pulled his blow when he'd finished her off. She'd sighed, gotten up, and backhanded him into the dirt. Then she'd added, almost sympathetically, _You're just too gentle for your own good._

She was the kindest of the four, and he loved her dearly, but she never let him forget his place. She was the peerless warrior who would succeed their father; he was the half-foreign baby. He wasn't going to regret climbing over her to get to the throne. 

Those were Khalid ibn Tiana's problems. The next Duke Riegan just had to survive the school year. He came back to the green outside the classrooms and sat himself a cool stone wall behind a row of bushes, taking out a workbook so he'd look busy if anyone walked by. It was the best place to eavesdrop. Eavesdropping was comforting. 

"Hey, Claude?" Hilda said, sometime later, snapping him out of his reverie. He looked up from his notes to see her standing over him, twirling a bit of hair around her finger. "I _hate_ to bother you, but we need to go bail Leonie and Lorenz out. They took a bunch of weapons from the training ground, and Seteth is super mad about it? Leonie says the two of them were just cleaning them, but Seteth's not buying what they're selling." 

Claude closed his workbook, glad for the distractions. He was in the faith magic class purely to suck up to Professor Manuela, and he hated it. "Sure, we've got this," he said. "Come on, let's make this right." 

There was a tournament on right now, and an evening service at the Cathedral. The classrooms were deserted. "How are you feeling? After last night?" she asked. 

"Like I stepped in pegasus blessings," he said. 

Hilda's neat eyebrows drew together. "I know we're not _close-_ close, but whatever you decide, I have your back? Like, I'm not in a position to promise that House Goneril will do anything for House Riegan, but if I'm really serious about something, Holst will at least hear me out. If nothing else, he can wring Hubert's skinny little neck for you?" 

House Goneril had been a thorn in his family's side for the past two hundred years, since they'd been the Counts and Countesses Goneril. He'd never expected to like Hilda. 

_Oh, you're pretty handsome, that's going to make this easier,_ Hilda had said on the tour of the monastery before the start of classes, attaching herself to his arm. _I_ so _did not want to be the leader of the Golden Deer, big yellow capes aren't exactly my style? But now I can have a relaxing year! Let me know if I can do anything to help!_

"Thanks, Hilda," Claude said, "that means a lot." 

So he sat there in Seteth's office with her, arguing that Leonie and Lorenz were the two people at Garreg Mach least likely to steal anything. Lorenz was too--Claude hated to say it--virtuous, and Leonie had too much to lose to mess up her education in such a stupid way. 

Hilda, had been sitting next to him silently, looking emotional. She teared up right on cue, and talked about how generous and selfless Leonie's whole village had been to pool their money and get her to the Officer's Academy, and how _moving_ that was. 

At Hilda's muffled sobs and trembling shoulders, Seteth crumpled like a tent in a desert wind. He produced a handkerchief clumsily embroidered at one corner with what looked like the Crest of Cethleann, and agreed to put Leonie and Lorenz on sky watch for a week instead of whatever other punishment he'd had in mind. Mission accomplished.

Hilda left, still sniffling. Claude lingered. 

"Is there anything else I can do for you, young man?" Seteth asked, picking up a pair of spectacles from his desk.

Here was his chance. 

Almyra had no quarrel with Adrestia. Adrestia didn't seem to have an interest in anything outside of Fódlan's borders. He had Seteth's full attention, and this could become the Church's problem. 

Claude could see the future unfurl before him like Professor Manuela's maps: Faerghus sided with the Church and fought to maintain its independence. The Alliance, thinking itself behind its mountains, its rivers, and its money, imploded over the ever-present Imperial Question. Claude had sat through enough high table meetings to know how they were. They'd end up doing nothing, and the Empire would sweep in anyway. 

And Claude could just _leave._ He could go back to Almyra. With Fódlan busy tearing itself apart, he could use what he'd learned about Alliance tactics to lead an assault on the Silver Pass--Fódlan's Throat, whatever--take it, and use it as a base to take control of Goneril territory. Being the person who'd broken the Pass would get him closer to being king, but it wouldn't get him closer to his dream: of destroying the borders, of breaking the barriers, of making things better for people like him, who weren't enough for one side, and not enough for the other, either. 

There had been something in Edelgard's eyes when she talked about the Crest system, something he recognized: she wanted to change the world, too, and she was a lot farther along than he was. 

"No, there's nothing," Claude said, his stomach turning. 

Seteth nodded. "Then if you'll pardon me, I have a fishing tournament to organize." 

Claude left. Dooming the continent to years of war for the sake of his curiosity didn't feel great _,_ but if Adrestia really did have the military might Edelgard's confidence suggested it did, he could be in one of two places: at her side, or under her boot. 

A Fódlan Edelgard had thrown into chaos would be a Fódlan that Claude had a shot at reshaping to his liking. It would be worth it in the end. He just had to believe that.

  
  



	2. You nosy little shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three letters get sent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day late, but hopefully not a dollar short! Thanks again to signalbeam for the help.

Fortunately for all of them, Professor Byleth took over axe training. Unfortunately, she watched Claude spar with Hilda for about five minutes and told him to leave and come back for intermediate practice in the afternoon. Everybody said that Professor Byleth demanded nothing less than perfection from the Black Eagles, so this shouldn't have surprised him, but it was disappointing, not least because he thought he'd improved a lot in the past few months. 

It also took away Claude's one guaranteed hour where Edelgard couldn't ignore or avoid him. The Battle of the Eagle and Lion was coming up; the classes were mixing even less than usual; he had not had the opportunity to make her hold up her end of their bargain. Hubert tried to corner him for a good threatening exactly once, at which point Claude responded in the only way he possibly could: with a little something slipped into Hubert's food, which had him groaning on the privy for three days straight.

"There's a whole lot more where that came from," Claude said through the door to the water closet on the third day. "Listen. You're stuck here with me. I can keep you shitting for the next six months, and you will never see me coming." It was important to nip this kind of thing in the bud, really. Somebody's servant always thought they were going to be clever and take the initiative.

A long silence. "Very well," Hubert said. "We'll never speak to Lady Edelgard of this."

"Sounds like a deal," Claude replied. "Common ground, right? Enjoy your night, buddy."

After that, Hubert left him alone, and only glared at him from a safe distance. Claude took to blowing him kisses.

He came across Edelgard at last on the second free day of the month. He was on his way back from breaking into Professor Hanneman's office for Hanneman's personal, annotated maps of Gronder Field, which Manuela had implied very strongly were in the bottom drawer of his desk. None of Manuela's past students had ever successfully stolen them, and, goodness, if some enterprising student managed it this year, it would give them an edge over the Blue Lions, at least.

Claude had broken into Hanneman's office during the first week of classes and had done so every month since, just to keep himself sharp. He managed it. It was an hour past midnight, and he caught sight of Edelgard in the graveyard, still wearing a heavy quilted tunic and an axe at her side.

"Hey," he said from the top of the steps. "What's got you out and about so late?"

The light of the full moon turned Edelgard silver against the dull red of her tunic, made her glow. "I couldn't sleep," she replied. "Do you need something?"

He'd been counting on a few hours of sleep before Manuela dragged them all out to the forest to practice their flanking maneuvers, but he wasn't likely to get a better chance to talk to Edelgard before the Battle of the Eagle and Lion was over. He descended the steps to her. 

"We're all alone," Claude said, "unless Hubert's taking a nap down there waiting to pop up at me?" He indicated the gravestone Edelgard stood behind, and Edelgard let out an undignified snort. "I've been holding up my end of the bargain, so now it's time to hold up yours."

She turned back to her contemplation of the forests below Garreg Mach. "What are those papers?" she asked.

"These? Just some old maps Professor Maneula asked me to get for her. What's a Hero's Relic, and where did they come from?"

"You really are interested in Relics," she said. "Here I thought you were just trying to put me off."

"Both of those things can be true at the same time," he said. 

Edelgard blew out a slow breath and turned to lean against the low stone wall. When she moved, she winced. "The Goddess didn't create them. Humankind did. After Seiros defeated the King of Liberation, the Church lied to the people of Fódlan about their origin to bring the families that held them into line." 

"Great." _King of Liberation_ was such a weird thing to call a man who'd gone mad with power. "What's a Crest stone, really?" 

"It's… a piece of raw magical power, which corrupts anyone without a Crest horribly."

Less than satisfying, but at least she was talking. "What's a Crest?"

"Do you know," Edelgard said, "I'm not entirely sure. My body was violated in order to give me a second one, but I cannot remember the implantation itself, except for a terrible pain in my legs, and the way my blood burned, and how it made me weak and ill. And then I recovered, and I was stronger than I could have dreamed. It doesn't seem to have had the same effect on Lysithea." 

She spoke so matter-of-factly about it. There were deep circles under her eyes. She shifted and winced again, resting a hand on the head of her axe.

"You okay?" Claude asked. 

"Don't concern yourself with it," she said. "Ferdinand thought he was being clever today when we sparred. As it turns out, he was." 

"Want me to fix it?" He still wasn't any good at white magic, but he could ease whatever aches she had, at least. Good faith, and all that. 

"If you must," said Edelgard, indicating her hip. 

Claude put his hand on her and did what Professor Manuela told him to do, which was to shut his eyes and sense the flow of energy through the body. There it was: a massive bruise, which showed itself to him as a grey blotch. He looked deeper, and her hip joint was a deeper grey. This part wasn't hard. Under his fingertips, the muscle in her thigh worked.

It felt like touching a statue. He did miss her beating him into the cobblestones at axe practice. In the intermediate class, he got paired a lot with Ingrid, who was glad to pummel him; but she just didn't have Edelgard's style, or Edelgard's rage. 

They sat in silence for a while, there in the graveyard, a lazy wind rustling through the trees below them. He willed the barest trickle of magic to flow from his fingers. It flowed, barely. 

_A Fódlan in chaos is a Fódlan I can remake to my liking_ , Claude thought, and the magic came out little more strongly. _At her side, or under her boot_. Stronger still. The Church of Seiros preached that foreigners were for good for trading only; mixing too much with them was distasteful, if not outright heretical. He'd been thinking about that lately. He knelt before the fire that was going to reshape Fódlan, after all. He didn't have much to bargain with—yet—but he could hitch his wagon to that star if he played his cards right. A scheme had taken shape in the back of his mind, and now was as good a time as any to spring it on her. 

"Do you know, I've been wondering," Claude said. "You've got your plot. You've got all these mysterious people backing you up, and the Death Knight, and some nobles, too, probably. Is it really enough to beat the Church of Seiros. I've seen the Knights in action, they're pretty tough." 

"We bargained for your silence and for my knowledge of Crests, not knowledge of my plans. You need me far more than I need you," she said, and sounded very, very sure. 

That was one way to look at it. The other way was that she'd agreed not to kill him slowly in exchange for his silence, and was just humoring him by telling him what she knew about Crests. "Come on," Claude said, "I'm just your humble healer right now." 

"You're not very good at this, are you. The healing, that is." 

"Not really. Mostly I take the class to stay on Professor Manuela's good side, but I think I can at least fix this." He adjusted his grip on her hip. "I've plenty of time being _your_ training dummy, after all." 

"It's true," Edelgard said. "I imagine you're going to come around to some point eventually, in these questions. Out with it, please." 

"All right," Claude said. "What would you say if I asked you nicely not to invade the Alliance?" 

"I would tell you that I have no intention of doing so unless I must. My war is with the Church, and only the Church." 

"And it's going to stay that way for about ten minutes after you declare it." 

"Yes," she said, "I know. But the time for wavering is long past: I chose to cut this path for myself long ago, and I intend to follow it to the very end." 

"Okay, but how far can you go it alone? Maybe Faerghus sides with the Church, maybe the Alliance tears itself apart arguing—or maybe the Alliance gets itself together long enough to make a serious play against you." 

She looked incredulously down at him. "The Alliance can barely agree on its own tariffs, let alone go to war as a single body." 

"Who knows what people will do when they feel like they're backed into a corner by a hostile foreign power? Maybe the charming, handsome new Duke Riegan rallies them all under one banner."

"I do hope that isn't a threat," Edelgard said coldly.

"Not at all," Claude replied. "How could I threaten you? It's not like I have an army to back it up. But... wouldn't it be nice to have an ally? To have one less thing on your agenda. You know, 'air out the washing, finish black magic essay, overthrow corrupt Church, fend off defenders of the faith from both sides.' Suppose you had the Alliance at your back." 

"Claude. You can't offer me the Alliance's help. You can't offer me anything now but your silence, and perhaps House Riegan's support _after_ you've inherited." 

"Right, and then I'll look like a crass little upstart trying to make my own power grab by siding with the Empire." 

"Your point, please." 

Claude shut his eyes as though he was concentrating on the magic, which he was, kind of. He was going to open Fódlan's borders. He was going to make things better for people like him. He'd been legitimated exactly two months ago, but he had Judith von Daphnel, who'd known and fought alongside his mother, and who'd treated him like her stupid nephew from the start. If he could get her support—if he played his cards right with Hilda, who played her cards right with her brother, the Duke—

Some dam broke in him, and the magic flowed out of him and into Edelgard's body. She let out a surprised, breathy _Oh!_ Claude looked up her body and saw her eyes close, the lines of her face, soften, and he took his hand off of her before it could get weird. 

"Suppose I could get you the support of a few Alliance lords, in secret, before you make whatever declaration you're going to make," Claude said, standing up. "Suppose they were influential enough that the rest of the Alliance was willing to follow them." 

Edelgard smoothed down the front of her tunic and ran one hand through her hair. The nice thing about the people of Fódlan was that they couldn't hide at all when they were blushing. "That's quite a lot of _suppose_ s," she said, as though that moment hadn't just happened. "Why should I risk years of planning on a hypothetical? Bad enough that you and Hilda know." 

"I can make it happen," Claude said, putting every ounce of assurance he hadn't into his voice. He felt none of it. If he did nothing, a lot of people died. If he did something, a lot of people also died. He'd chosen _something._

"You're willing to risk what little credibility you have on this," Edelgard said. "I've been thinking on it. You're a foreigner with an excessive interest in Crests, and nothing to lose, unless you're in disgrace in Almyra—but I don't think you are. You don't seem nearly desperate enough to inherit your grandfather's title. Therefore: you have some ambition, and you think I can help you with it. Am I correct?" 

Well, that was like getting punched in the teeth. Stupid of him to not expect Edelgard to be perceptive. "Something like that," Claude replied. "You're trying to change the world. So am I." 

Edelgard made a broad hand gesture, and in doing so swept his dream away as inconsequential, compared to hers. From anyone else, that might have stung, but Claude had the feeling Edelgard had imagination enough to dream of exactly one future for herself. That she'd expanded it enough—just enough—to include Claude was probably a huge stretch for her.

"If you fail," Edelgard said, "it will simply mean that I need to move my plans up a few months, and I lose the element of surprise. If you succeed, it will be an administrative problem, but it _will_ mean more troop numbers. If you mean to use me, I'll gladly use you." 

"Your Highness," Claude said, leaning in to her and winking. "Please. You can use me anytime." 

Edelgard scowled. "You have one month to give me some material proof that you can deliver on your promises. It begins now." 

\- 

Claude explained it all—or enough of it—to Hilda the very next day, because there was only a very slim chance that Judith was going to go along with this. Holst Goneril had even more troops and cachet to his name, which would be an even bigger fish to bring up before Edelgard. It couldn't hurt to hedge his bets. 

Besides. He had to trust someone, or he'd end up like his grandfather: old, paranoid, passive, trying desperately to hold his crumbling world in balance.

They'd been sent to pull weeds in a greenhouse in one of the monastery's outbuildings, which really meant Claude did all the work while Hilda praised his excellent trowel technique. For once, he didn't mind. The rest of the class was spread out through the rest of the greenhouses; they were completely alone. 

When he was done talking, Hilda sat back in the dirt, considering. "Okay. What if she gets caught before she can finish her big evil plans? I'm not going down with her." 

"I've thought about that," said Claude. "It's been six months, and everyone is running around looking for a group led by a man with a deep voice, right, and they're still chasing down people from the Western Church, too. It seems to me that she's got powerful allies, and nobody's looking at the Empire."

Hilda pulled one single piece of clover out of the dirt and set it daintily on top of Claude's pile.

"Even if we were to go to the Church about it," he added, "what would I say? I don't have any solid evidence. It's my word against the Imperial Princess's word." 

"Sheesh, Edelgard must have promised you something good after I left," Hilda said. "Good enough for you to risk everyone's lives?" 

_You'll sell yourself so cheaply,_ Edelgard had said. She hadn't promised him anything. He'd promised her a whole lot.

"Absolutely," Claude replied. "If she goes through with this, we've done what we can to preserve the Alliance's independence. If she gets caught, the two of us cry a lot about how Edelgard led us astray, and we're both good servants of the Church of Seiros who were just trying to collect convincing evidence."

"All right, then," Hilda said, "I'll write to my brother."

"Wait, that easy?"

"I should be the one saying that," Hilda said. "You're the one who's just going along with whatever Edelgard says." 

"I've got my reasons." 

"You always do!" 

What was he supposed to do, tell her, _Hey, the thing I want more than anything is to smash through the border your family has been defending against my father's people for six generations? And Edelgard's going to help me do it, whether she_ _knows it or not_ _?_ But Hilda had never pressed in earnest about his past, so he never elaborated.

"Let's just say she's got something else I need," he said, "and I sure hope I've got something she wants. I want to hear about you, though."

"Fine, _be_ mysterious. My family is from Faerghus, originally," Hilda said, tugging half-heartedly at the second weed she'd touched in the past hour. "It's not Hilda von Goneril, you know?" 

Claude made a _go on_ gesture with a dandelion. 

"You really don't know, huh? The way Mama tells it, we got sick of kneeling to the Queen of Faerghus at the time, so we took our title and our army and settled some land no one wanted on the eastern frontier. Eventually, we decided we wanted to be Dukes, not Counts or Margraves, and by that point everyone was so grateful to us that they didn't argue with it."

Okay, so, the Alliance version of this story clearly left out the part where the Gonerils had stolen said land from Almyra, who'd wanted it very much, actually, but now was not the time. 

"So if Edelgard really does go through with this and we don't do anything about it, and we also don't tell the Church because you want something from her," Hilda continued, "we're either going to end up with an Emperor, or we're going to have a king or queen again, which I don't care about, but Holst won't be happy, and I'll have to stay at home because it's dangerous out there, which will be boring. Also, getting invaded seems really expensive?"

And so they wrote two letters, which he concealed in a thick, boring missive to Nader, to be forwarded to Judith and Holst. He included a mostly honest explanation to Nader, too, written in Almyran: how he'd gotten caught spying, how he'd bargained for his life, how the people of Fódlan fighting amongst themselves would mean less interest in Almyra, and good trade, too—and what he wanted to do with Edelgard's support, eventually.

Nader would understand, he hoped. Nader had spent his whole career surviving one stupid fight with the Alliance after another, keeping as many young lives as possible from getting thrown away on an endless border war. Now, Claude could just hear Nader saying _Your parents are going to kill you and also me if they find out about this, kiddo,_ but if Claude was going to fail, he was going to fail spectacularly. 

After that, it was just waiting, and watching the calendar.

-

The Black Eagles won the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, because of course they did. Without Professor Manuela, or even with her, none of them but Lorenz had really expected to win. The maps made a difference, but not enough of one.

Claude didn't take it too hard: he'd done the best he could with what he had, but every time he gave an order or pulled off some maneuver they'd been practicing for weeks, Professor Byleth was one step ahead of him. It was consistent. It was uncanny. No wonder the Black Eagles got sent out on the really dangerous missions, as opposed to the ones that just involved a little light murder. 

The consolation feast had spilled out onto the green outside the dining hall, and down to the fishing pond, too. Claude hadn't technically gotten permission to plan it, but if the kitchen happened to have a lot of extra food on hand for some upcoming celebration, who was to say which celebration that was for? This excuse would absolutely not fly with Seteth. Claude would figure something out.

He'd thought Edelgard would be more smug, but as he kept an eye on her and the evening wore on, she seemed more and more irritated with every congratulations she got. There was a lot of simpering from nobles from every house. Lorenz alone spent five minutes composing a paean to Edelgard's glory before Dorothea chased him off by being a woman who was also a commoner in his presence.

"We Blue Lions acquitted ourselves with honor," Dimitri said, when Claude asked him how his class was holding up. Not well, was how. "That's all that matters." 

"You're not even a tiny bit bitter?" Claude asked. 

"I certainly would have liked to win, but Edelgard is a worthy opponent, and there is no shame in having lost to her." 

"You know, you're a lot nicer than me." 

"Well," Dimitri said, "yes." 

"Edelgard's something else," Claude said. "one time in axe practice, she took on Professor Jeritza and almost won? It was the scariest thing I've ever seen. Then he dressed her down for five straight minutes about relying on her Crest." 

"Professor Jeritza, ah, always had useful comments in lance practice." 

"Yeah, shame about the kidnapping and attempted murder. And the actual murders." 

"If I ever meet him again, I'll tear his heart from his chest," Dimitri said, very casually. Maybe the light from the candles had caught his face in a weird way, because in that moment he looked like someone with a lot of rage and not a lot of self-control. 

And then Claude blinked, and Dimitri was back to normal. Someone who felt that strongly about the Death Knight probably wasn't going to be amenable to getting dragged into this plan. So much for that.

"Taking that final blow from you," Claude said, by way of changing the subject, "I can still feel it in my teeth. Hilda's never going to let me live it down. I bet that's what having a little sister is like." 

"I can only imagine," Dimitri replied, and looked incredibly uncomfortable. Some Blaiddyd baby born on the wrong side of the sheets? Who knew. 

In the morning, a messenger found Claude with a letter from Judith. It was one piece of paper, sealed with wax, and also magic. He had to get Lysithea to remove the ward and confirm that it hadn't been tampered with, which it hadn't been. 

_Are you an idiot, putting all this down on paper?_ it said, in Judith's secretary's elegant hand. _All you had to do was mind your own business for one year, you nosy little shit. Stay where you are, boy, I'm coming to sort this out._

The thought of Judith sorting anything out was terrifying, but nothing in this letter had refused him, or told him she was going to the Church to save him from his own stupidity. Either she was going to hear him out, or she was going to separate him from his head, because he clearly wasn't using it. 

Claude thanked Lysithea, who was very obviously curious about why the Hero of Daphnel was writing to him. He took the letter directly to Edelgard, whom he found in her dorm room. The Flame Emperor lived five doors down from him. He passed the Flame Emperor early in the morning on his way to the baths. He tried not to think about it too much. 

"I've also had Hilda pitch your cause to her brother," he said, as she scanned the letter. 

"Duke Goneril is a great general," Edelgard said, and thankfully she did not ask whether Holst had written back. "This is a very direct note."

"Judith is… a direct kind of lady. You'll understand when you meet her."

"I suppose I will." 

"If you need an enticement for her—you're going to have to invade Kingdom territory, right? House Galatea is an offshoot branch of House Daphnel. I've looked at some surveys, and House Galatea's land is rich in the kind of iron you need for Wootz steel. They've never had the money to start up a mining operation, so the deposits are untouched." 

Edelgard folded the letter up neatly and set it on her desk. "You're eager." 

"I'm prepared," Claude said. "Have I mentioned lately how much I don't want you to invade the Alliance? If getting the Hero of Daphnel and big brother Holst to the table isn't material assurance, I don't know what is." 

"It will suffice," she said. 

Her hair was perfect, her uniform cape where it was flung over her bed was uncreased, but something was off about her. She looked haggard, and she hadn't given him even one dramatic speech. There was some kind of plague in Remire Village, close enough that it might spread the monastery; everyone was feeling the strain. Professor Manuela worked long nights on samples that the Knights brought back, and wouldn't tell Claude a thing about her findings. 

_Have I ever told you you're just adorable when you're fishing for information, Claude?_ Manuela said to him, whenever he was on infirmary duty and trying to prize some information out of her.

 _About once a week, Teach,_ Claude replied, and went back to sorting medical supplies. 

"Well, I'm glad we got this sorted out," he said. He dropped a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, by way of consolation. She accepted the touch, but made no reply. 

-

Professor Manuela being too busy to spare, the class got sent down the mountain with Shamir as the escort for their monthly mission: dealing with the giant wolves menacing the town of Garreg Mach, a month out of season. Shamir made absolutely no secret of what she thought of the pack of brats she was stuck with. As a result, what should have been a three-day trip took a whole week. 

By the time they got back to the monastery proper, everyone was talking about the battle at Remire Village: experiments, death, Tomas, Solon, whatever he was, villagers running wild, the whole town burnt to the ground. The Flame Emperor had shown himself again to Professor Byleth, though the details of what he'd said and done varied. Some people said he'd been involved with the fighting. Claude asked Linhardt, who rolled his eyes and said, no, that was the Death Knight, the Flame Emperor only showed up afterward.

Remire had been—Claude didn't really remember it, on account of he'd sprinted through it once, found some handy mercenaries to bail their sorry hides out, and left. It had probably been a nice little town, by Fódlan standards. The survivors came back to Garreg Mach with the Black Eagles and the Knights of Seiros, and Claude's class, the mud still wet on their boots, was put to work helping them.

It was mostly kids. Orphans, now. He had a sick feeling in his gut whenever it was his turn to help escort them to the dining hall or pick up their washing.

This was what he'd allied himself with through Edelgard. Not just people who'd kidnap a couple of girls, but people who'd throw away human lives for—who knew why. Claude had no illusions about what the Officer's Academy was for, but learning how to kill people faster and better in battle was completely different from turning a village full of innocent people into a bloodbath.

Was it, though. How many villages full of innocent Almyrans had Alliance troops destroyed, and how many had his people destroyed right back.

It was a little too late to back out now, not with Judith on her way and Hilda saying there was no word yet every time Claude asked about Holst, but he was at least owed a few answers about something like this.

He found Edelgard exactly where she'd been the night he'd first bugged her about her Crests: in the Black Eagles' classroom, sitting at the end of the frontmost bench. She really was predictable. 

"Claude," she said without looking up, "you may as well come in. I'm sure you have questions."

"How'd you know it was me?" he asked. 

"Only you or Hubert would interrupt me at this hour, and I wouldn't have heard Hubert walk in."

"Harsh."

"Regardless of how you feel, it's true. Ask, please." 

Edelgard finished the page she was writing and set it aside. She'd been copying out a draft of a letter in a nicer hand, and she turned over the draft before he could read it and stuck it in the middle of a stack of other papers. Claude marked where it went before he spoke.

"Did you know about Remire before it happened?" he asked. 

"No." 

"Could you have stopped it if you had?"

"No. I could not have. I could have protested very strenuously, and I would have been ignored." 

"Do you need these people so badly that you can't just cut them loose? Especially if you get Alliance troops—" 

Edelgard laughed, short and bitter. "You have no idea what you're talking about." 

"I don't, so explain it to me," he said. "You're going to sell Judith and Duke Goneril the exact same bill of goods you sold me. I think someone on the Alliance side should know the whole truth, don't you? You can't lie to everyone all the time." 

"That's very interesting, coming from you," Edelgard said levelly. 

She set her quill down and finally looked up at him. Her face was bleak. She took a deep breath. At last, Claude had caught her in a vulnerable moment, and it wasn't as satisfying as he'd thought it would be. 

"You won't like it," she said.

"Try me."

"You'll think I'm mad."

"I already kind of think that. Try me."

Edelgard studied him for a long moment, and he could swear he felt his whole self being weighed all over again. Whether he was spying on her for the Church, whether he was bluffing about Judith and Holst, what he might have to gain as an Almyran prince from this war of hers, what he might gain as Duke Riegan. The only thing he wanted to gain at this moment was a really good story, a story so compelling he'd forget his cold feet, and the wretched faces of all those kids. 

"You know of the Insurrection of the Seven," Edelgard said. 

"Yeah, big coup." Professor Manuela said she had no head for politics, but she'd lived in Enbarr while it was happening, and she had a lot to say about the nobles involved. "The dust settles, and Emperor Ionius's youngest daughter is named heir to the throne." 

"Correct. My eldest sister was thirty and bore the family's first Major Crest in generations, and she abdicated her role for me. How peculiar."

"Great, but what does this have to do with Remire?"

"No, I suppose you wouldn't appreciate my dissembling. I'll lay it out for you, then: I was the third youngest of eleven. The youngest was six years old. Most of them are dead now, and the rest... they're very infirm. The Seven were convinced that our bodies should be violated to create a perfect emperor, but the people who carried out the experiments wanted a weapon with which to destroy the Church of Seiros."

"A weapon," Claude said, "that had two Crests?"

She nodded. "Only I survived intact. If I'm to wage war on their behalf, I cannot do any less than try to change the world with the power that's been forced on me. I'll cut the head off of one snake, and when I'm finished with it, I'll crush the other."

If she was lying, she'd have come up with a more believable story than "spooky evil mages implant Crest in Imperial heirs," and besides, it matched up with what Lysithea had told him.

"All right," Claude said, "sure. You had nothing to do with it. I heard you and Professor Byleth saved a lot of people, too. What's the deal with the Death Knight?"

"He's my subordinate. If I'd known what Tomas—Solon—was going to use him for, I never would have agreed to lend him out."

"You must have had a great time pretending he was your teacher."

"I'm not you," Edelgard said. "I don't enjoy deception. It's just a tool."

"It's lonely," Claude ventured.

Edelgard's face, which had lightened up a little bit, went grim again. "I endure," she said.

"Look at us, we're talking in a classroom. We could walk out the door and see the Cathedral. I'm scared all the time that someone's figured it out, or intercepted my letter, or is eavesdropping right now," he said. "It must be so much worse for you."

"If I'm discovered before I can make my move on the monastery, then I deserve to fail."

"You really don't think you'll fail, do you."

"I certainly won't falter," she said.

On impulse, Claude put his arm around Edelgard's shoulder. Her whole body went stiff as a board, and Claude began to pull away when her hand curling around his gave him pause. 

"I didn't tell you to stop," she said. "Though this is a bit indecent." 

"It's not like you've got me bent over Professor Byleth's desk over there—I mean, you kind of do, metaphorically speaking. But we're just—"

"I'm joking. Do you really think I've never been hugged before?" 

"Well, I mean," Claude said, and elected not to elaborate any further, lest he get himself in trouble. 

She rested her cheek on his upper arm, and gradually, she relaxed. He shifted so he was holding her in his arms, awkward as it was on the bench, and she allowed it. 

"Judith von Daphnel should be here any day now," Claude said quietly, sliding his arms around her narrow waist. 

The last little bit of tension went out of Edelgard's body. "And Duke Goneril?" she asked. 

"No, no, I get one more question." There _still_ hadn't been any word from Holst. "C'mon, tell me what your second Crest is. It's been killing me."

"It's the Crest of Flames," Edelgard said, her voice a soft rumble against his chest. He could get used to this, which was the reason he could absolutely not get used to this. "The same lost Crest as my teacher's."

"So you could use the Sword of the Creator?"

"In theory, yes."

So if the people who'd attacked the Mausoleum during the Rite of Rebirth were trying to get at the Sword of the Creator, maybe the intent had been to have Edelgard wield it. Maybe not. One answer, ten more questions.

He glanced down at Edelgard, whose eyes had fluttered shut. She looked more at peace than he'd ever seen her, in this moment. He glanced over at the desk, where the draft of her letter sat in the middle of a stack of papers, its dirty yellow distinguishing it from the clean white of the paper around it. Carefully, he removed one arm from around her as though to adjust his position, and slid it out of the pile and stuffed it into his back pocket.

\- 

The letter was addressed to Count Bergliez. In very elliptical terms, it described Garreg Mach's magical defenses, and the secret passes through the mountains that the Knights of Seiros had historically used to march out in force. 

So Edelgard had the Empire's Minister of War working for her. The tone was familiar, almost as though she was writing to a much-disliked uncle. Claude thought about burning the letter, or returning it, but he kept it.

If this all went south and he had to run back to Almyra, he could use it as evidence that he'd just been playing along with Edelgard's plans long enough to bring something really definitive to the Church. He kept it in an inside pocket of his uniform jacket, and didn't let that jacket out of his sight.

-

"Word from Holst!" Hilda said. "He got held up visiting every noble from here to Derdriu, and he's not super mad about this whole thing, and he's happy about my initiative? I'll never live this down." 

They stood in the gazebo where everybody took their tea, waiting for Marianne and Leonie to be done with stable duty. A few nobles had shown up totally unannounced early that morning with big retinues, which meant a lot of horses. This happened about once a month, and when it did, the stablemistress had recruited every able student to help get everything in order. 

"That's great," Claude said, and felt something in him unclench. Holst had been the one big unknown in this scheme. 

"It's not great," said Hilda. "Still, if it gets Hubert to stop menacing me…." 

"Hubert menaces you?"

"Yeah, all the time. He does it to everybody, but I get his super special attention. At this point, he just goes 'Good morning, pass the cream, if you breathe a word of what you know you will meet a tragic and untimely end, ha ha ha!' and I go 'Sure, got it, pass the salt.' Holst will rip him in half!"

Claude was pretty sure Hilda could do that herself, but far be it for him to correct her. If it really was a problem, he was sure Hilda would have put a stop to it.

At that point, Leonie and Marianne joined them, and they all made their way to the dining hall together. Hilda complained the whole way about the two of them not bathing after working in the stables, and Leonie laughed it off before Marianne could cringe and apologize. 

All of this felt... normal. Neither of them could possibly know what was coming. Supposing they—Edelgard—pulled this off, Marianne would probably be ordered to join the Empire, but would Leonie come along? What was stronger, her faith or their friendship? He'd come here to make useful acquaintances and to understand how the people of Fódlan lived and fought, but he hadn't thought he'd like his classmates so much. Still, if he had to step on their necks for his ambitions, he was pretty sure he could. 

Before they made it to dinner, however, Edelgard fell smoothly into step with them.

"Pardon me," she said, mostly to Leonie and Marianne. "I need to borrow your house leader. There has been a difficulty." 

Then she took Claude by the elbow very firmly and steered him off. He managed to glance back and see Hilda hustling the other two along, talking very loudly about her brother's visit as she went.

Edelgard dragged him to the bridge to the Cathedral, which was deserted in the middle of the day, had good lines of sight, and was very public. That probably meant she wasn't going to murder him. 

"You stole something from me," Edelgard said. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?" 

Not this fast, Claude hadn't. "You're not exactly forthcoming, princess," he replied. "You really can't stand this Count Bergliez, huh." 

"He's a loathsome little toad who inherited his position and has never had to work for it," she said. 

Claude could smell a rant there, but Edelgard all but tapped her foot at him. She'd drawn herself up to her full height, and she held her hand out. "Give it back." 

"How do you know I haven't burned it?" 

"Because despite all appearances to the contrary, you're not stupid, Claude, and I don't think you mean to betray me." 

He could just lie. He could say he'd gotten rid of it, and keep his little insurance: there were four months left in their year here, which was still plenty of time for things to go terribly wrong. They hadn't even had spare hour to talk about Holst.

Edelgard trusted him right now. There was an awful earnestness in her eyes, nearly a plea. _Don't let my faith in you have been misplaced._ No one looked at Claude like that here. He didn't look like he was from Fódlan. Everyone found him at least a little bit suspicious.

He pulled the letter out of his inside pocket and placed it in her hand. 

"I thank you," Edelgard said, tucking the letter away in her own shirt. 

"I'm not saying I'll never do it again," Claude said. "Someone's gotta keep you on your toes."

"So long as you give them back," she replied. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw two someones approaching. He turned and saw that it was Hubert, with Hilda trailing two paces behind him. Hubert came up short and bowed, mostly to Edelgard. 

"Duke Goneril and Countess Daphnel have paid their respects to the Archbishop, and they request your presence at your earliest convenience," he said.

The two nobles that had shown up, with the horses. Shit. Claude hadn't thought it would be so soon, but taking into account how long letters took to get to Garreg Mach, it made sense that Holst would be here already. 

Hilda elbowed around Hubert. "What Hubie here means is that Claude had better get to the guest quarters as soon as possible, before Judith decides exactly how she's going to tan his hide! Her secretary's exact words." 

Hubert glared down at her. "I've asked you not to call me that."

"You let Dorothea do it." 

"It's different." 

"How!"

This sounded like round fifty of this conversation. With about another second to breathe, it would have been funny. But Edelgard charged off toward the guest quarters, and Hubert followed after her like a toy horse on a string. Claude looked at Hilda. Hilda shrugged, and they followed the two of them.

-

Holst Florian Goneril, the man who would have led the Alliance if Claude hadn't shown up when he did, was too handsome to be real. Claude hesitated in the door, glancing back at Edelgard and Hubert to see if either of them were seeing this, and neither of them seemed impressed. They were blind. It was a shame about Holst's whole "sincerely believing he was the savior of Fódlan" thing, but everyone had their flaws.

"Got me again, Auntie Judith," Holst said with a dazzling grin, throwing his playing cards down on the table between the two of them.

He glanced up at the four of them, who'd been shown into the sitting room by one of Judith's retainers. "Oh, hello, Hilda," he said, rising to sweep her into an embrace, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around. He was taller than Hubert, and unlike Hubert, his shoulders were enormous. "You brought some friends? How can we help you, kids?" 

"That's the Imperial princess and the biggest pain in the ass this side of Morfis," Judith said, sweeping up the playing cards into a neat stack. 

"Huh," Holst said, still holding Hilda. "That was quick. Threats work, I guess." 

"Hilda Valentine," Judith said, "you've gotten tall. Are you as worthless as your brother?"

"Even more worthless, ma'am!" Hilda replied cheerfully, peeking over Holst's shoulder. 

"Not surprising. You and the one who looks like a shaved rat, leave," said Judith. 

When Claude met Judith for the first time, she'd told him he looked like a dirty little street urchin, and that he needed to cut his hair and shave off that scraggly little beard, because it didn't make him look any older. Claude had taken it very personally. Hubert had remained impressively calm. Holst set Hilda down, Hilda dragged Hubert from the room, and then Claude had only Edelgard next to him. 

"So," Claude said, "do you want to hear the next emperor of Adrestia convince you to declare war against the Church, or do we want to get dinner first?" 

Holst scratched his chin. "I don't know, has the dining hall gotten any better in the past ten years?" 

"I've eaten worse?" said Claude.

Judith stood, shoving her chair back on the marble floor with a loud, ugly scrape. Holst sighed softly. Holding Edelgard's eyes, and only Edelgard's, Judith approached the two of them, drawing her longsword from its sheath as she went. 

"You, girl," she said, leveling the blade at a very unarmed Edelgard. "Quickly: give me a very good reason why I shouldn't cut your head off now and save myself a lot of trouble."


	3. I'll cut a path for you, too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody gets decapitated. Judith and Holst have a lot to say. Something goes terribly wrong in the Sealed Forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again so much to signalbeam for looking this over and gently making this more coherent, and also to all of you for your attention (and patience)!

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Claude said. "Let's all be reasonable here." 

Holst, still seated, picked up the deck of cards and shuffled them neatly, as though he watched the Imperial Princess's life get threatened every day. 

"I imagine it's for the same reason I haven't killed Claude," Edelgard said, regarding Judith's sword calmly. "It would have been a needless complication, and I was interested in what he had to say."

Judith kept her sword pointed for another very long moment, and then she lowered it, and finally, she put it away. Claude breathed a sigh of relief. 

Then Judith rounded on him. "I let you out of my sight for five minutes, and you're trying to take over the world." 

"Hey, Edelgard's the one who’s trying to take over the world—" 

"I am _not,"_ Edelgard protested. 

Claude kept going: "I'm just trying to keep our corner of the world from getting taken over, too. All I'm asking is that you hear us out, and you, too, Your Grace. If you decide to cut her head off when she's finished speaking, good luck." 

"Goddess, you're just like Tiana," Judith said. "I told her I'd look after you. Fine. I'll hear you out." 

Edelgard did, in fact, sell the same bill of goods she'd tried to sell Claude and Hilda: the Church had been manipulating Fódlan in secret for a thousand years, it was past time to root out its corrupt influence and get out from underneath its shadow, and the rest of it. Holst nodded amiably along to her every word, but if he was anything like Hilda, that didn't mean anything. House Goneril was always spoiling for a fight, and Almyra _had_ been a little quiet lately. No sense in assaulting an impregnable fortress when the Alliance was at its most smug, after all.

However, Judith's scowl deepened with Edelgard's every word. House Daphnel was well off, but not politically powerful, not anymore. Judith herself had told him they'd left the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus for taxation reasons, not religious or political reasons.

"My fight is only with the Church of Seiros," Edelgard concluded. The sun was setting outside the window, and it washed the room orange and red. "Regardless of whether you believe me, I intend to carry it out. Adrestia has gladly helped the Leicester Alliance in the past."

Holst looked to Judith. Judith looked to Holst. Judith looked at Claude, whose palms were clammy just thinking about what was going to happen if they didn't convince these two. 

"I don't see what's in this for me," said Judith. "The war with Almyra was more than a century ago. Concern for Claude got me into this room—Goddess knows this boy hasn’t been serious a day in his life, and suddenly he’s aiding and abetting a rebellion against the Church? But it's not going to get me to pledge my troops to your cause. All right, you declare you war. You somehow don't get power-hungry and decide to swallow up the Alliance, and you win. What am I left with at the end of your war?" 

Edelgard didn't even blink. "The Alliance is the breadbasket of Fódlan; I don't want an expensive campaign through its heartland any more than either of you do. In addition, I anticipate having to subdue Faerghus. You're welcome to House Galatea's lands."

"Which are on the other side of the Valley of Torment, and piss-poor farmland to boot." 

"Yes, but they're rich in ore. House Galatea has never had the capital to begin a mining operation, but I suspect House Daphnel does."

Those were Claude's own words, said in Edelgard's steely, proud tones. The knot of tension in Claude's stomach unfurled exactly one inch. 

"They took your Hero's Relic when they left, didn't they?" he added. Judith gave him a short nod. "We can see that returned to you." That was a promise he couldn't actually make, and Judith seemed rightfully skeptical.

"I'll certainly do my best," Edelgard said, as though the two of them had discussed any of this in detail. 

And then, the hitch of conscience: Ingrid had nearly taken Claude out in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. He'd felled her with a lucky shot, and at the feast after the battle, she'd laughed heartily about it and praised his aim. They weren't friends. He put her face from his mind. 

Holst shifted in his chair. "What about me? I've got a border to defend. I can't pull my troops back and commit them to the Empire." 

"Come off it, you little hothead, the Almyrans haven't picked a fight with you since you renovated your fortress," Judith said. As Claude understood it, Holst had been sent off to Daphnel territory to train under Judith before he'd come to the Officer's Academy. Holst’s handsome face took on a very pouty cast. 

Claude waited for a second to see what brilliant thing came out of Edelgard's mouth, but apparently she had nothing, because she looked to him. _She_ looked to _him._

Fortunately, he’d talked about Fódlan’s Locket the other day with Lorenz; it was annoying to have to reveal that he wasn't actually an idiot, but Lorenz would have bugged him about it for weeks if he hadn't let something slip. He'd left out the fact that his grandfather had called Margrave Edmund a dirty usurer when he'd heard that the bulk of the money was coming from House Edmund, though in Grandfather's rants about the Margrave, it could be difficult to tell what was fact and what was Duke Riegan hating new money. An angle was an angle, though.

"Duke Goneril," Claude said. 

"Aw, Hilda's told me all about you, just call me Holst." 

Claude could only pray she'd said good things, and not _Claude is a conniving little schemer who's almost as lazy as I am! I've finally met my match!_

"Okay, Holst," he said. "Margrave Edmund financed the repairs to Fódlan's Locket, didn't he? But he didn’t just give you that money for the good of the Alliance, I'll bet. He bought Judith’s way off the council, and he bought his way onto it. He’s always looking for ways to increase his influence. Why not get House Goneril in his debt?" 

Holst scratched his chin, inscrutable. 

"Maybe that’s not true," Claude went on, "maybe it’s a shot in the dark. Either way, I bet you could use a good excuse to seize the Eastern Church's territories on your border. Never mind all the money the Eastern Church has, it's good farmland, and the Margrave is going to be angling for it, too, if he comes over to the Empire's side. A few years’ good harvests will pay for all kinds of things." 

"Huh. Hilda was right about you," Holst said. Whatever that meant. It didn't seem to be a bad thing. 

"This is all well and good," Judith said. "You can make us all the promises you like, and spin us whatever stories you care to, but you're just a pair of kids without a single troop between you. Tell me why I shouldn’t go to Rhea and nip this in the bud?" 

"Count Hevring isn’t a child," said Edelgard. "Count Bergliez certainly has armies. They've pledged their support and resources to my cause, and did so many years ago. Should you choose to do so as well, your dealings will be with them. I expect the rest of my ministers will fall in line upon my coronation." 

Her tone left little doubt as to what was going to happen to the ones who didn't. 

"There are worse generals than the ones in Bergliez's pack," Holst said. 

"There are better ones," Judith replied. 

"The kid seems sincere." 

"Of course she seems sincere, she actually believes this shit," said Judith. "What if we lose?" 

"Two thirds of Fódlan allied against the Church will be hard to beat," Claude cut in. 

"You’re so sure the rest of the Alliance will go along with this." 

"Count Gloucester and Count Ordelia have too much to lose to declare against the Empire, and you know it," Claude replied.

Judith snorted. "Gloucester is a spineless little prick. He’d join the Empire right now if they’d have him."

"He has… good soil," Holst replied. "And Count Ordelia has a good heart. Hilda likes his daughter, and the Gloucester boy, too. That’s one point in his favor."

"Lorenz isn’t anything like his father," Claude felt compelled to say. "He’s got a lot of spine." 

"Bullshit, I’ve met the boy," Judith said. "That apple did not fall far from the tree. Now, Edmund’s girl, there's an apple—" 

Edelgard stood quietly at Claude’s side, watching Holst and Judith go back and forth about the worthlessness of various lords' heirs. Holst got sidetracked talking about his the merits of his perfect sister Hilda, a paragon of kindness who bore absolutely no resemblance to the Hilda Claude knew. Judith turned the subject to whether Holst really had borrowed money from Margrave Edmund, at which point Holst got very squirrely and shifted the conversation toward the Alliance's naval might.

Claude had seen the full round table ignore irritating petitioners for an hour straight, sometimes, just to make them sweat. Edelgard did seem very tense next to him.

"Relax, this is just what it's like listening to the leading lords of the Alliance make decisions," Claude muttered to her. "It's so much worse with all five of them in the same room. You sure about this?"

"Yes," Edelgard said, sotto voce. "You'll be the one keeping them in line, after all."

"Who, me?"

"Did you think I was going to discard you after I secured Alliance troops? I have faith in your ability to turn a group of bickering donkeys to one purpose; look at your Golden Deer, after all. They've come so far."

"You don't need to flatter me, you know," Claude said. "You've already got me."

"If it wasn't true," she said, "I wouldn't say it. Have I lied to you yet?"

Before he could give that any serious thought, Holst gave a hearty guffaw at something Judith had said about House Riegan's merchant fleet.

Holst grinned. "Well, kids," he said, "this has been an interesting talk. Judith and I have a lot to think about. I’m sure we'll have an answer for you before we leave." 

"Great," Claude said, before Edelgard could speak. "We'll leave you to it." 

"And Claude," Judith said, sitting back down and taking up the deck of cards again, "attend me tomorrow morning."

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

Hilda and Hubert were nowhere to be seen. When the door closed behind them, Edelgard slid her arm into his and did not let him go. They walked together in a tense silence until they came to Claude's room. Edelgard followed him in and shut the door behind her, and locked it. She double checked the lock, then sat down gracefully on his bed, shoving a stack of books aside as she did so.

"I can't believe that worked," Claude said, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. It didn't feel right to sit next to her on his bed, so he sat down on his desk, resting his feet on her chair. 

"It hasn't worked yet." Edelgard sounded grim. "Why is your bed so much bigger than mine?" 

"Bribery," Claude said. "You were great."

"No, you were. I had no idea what to say to Duke Goneril. I thought I'd have more time to ask you what you knew of him. I've been giving the same speech to Adrestian nobles for the past four years, but Duke Goneril and Countess Daphnel are very much not from the Empire."

"If you've been at this for four years, when'd you get Count Hevring and Count Bergliez on your side?"

"Four years ago," Edelgard said. "I didn't wake up at the beginning of the year and decide I was going to overthrow the Church of Seiros, Claude," she said. "I've kept it hidden for this long through luck and fear. When was the last time you returned all these books to the library? This room is a mess." 

At fourteen, he'd been squiring for his oldest sister. His biggest and most pressing concerns had been first, trying not to get caught sneaking sips of her good brandy when they camped in the evening, and second, avoiding an uncle's attempts at arranging a tragic accident on the march out east. 

"I have a system," Claude said. He hopped off the desk and paced to the bed and back. In front of Judith and Holst, he'd thought he'd been cool and collected. They hadn't given Edelgard—and him—a flat _no,_ not yet. 

"What do you think Judith wants to speak with you about tomorrow morning?" Edelgard asked. 

She'd crossed her legs on his bed, and Claude had a sudden memory of the way she felt on top of him. Granted, he'd pushed her into a rage at the time, but that hadn't mattered to his body then, and it didn't matter now. He hadn't had anybody else in here all year, naked or otherwise; when the Golden Deer threw parties, they usually used Raphael's room. It wasn't fatal, but it was annoying, especially when he lived just a few doors down from Sylvain.

"With my luck," he said, "she's going to take me out on the training grounds and teach me a lesson about being a nosy little shit." 

"You were right, she's very direct." 

"I get the feeling she's going to be treating me like a stupid kid when I'm leader of the Alliance and she's a cranky old dowager." 

At that, Edelgard's brow furrowed. "Do you want to be Duke Riegan, or do you want to be king of Almyra?" 

"I don't know," he said. "Being Duke Riegan is the easiest path, if I don't die horribly from getting-into-a-war disease. But... I might have to kill some of my siblings to get named heir to the throne, you know? I've got a bunch."

Edelgard frowned and said, "Last I heard, Almyra had a crown princess." 

"Yeah," Claude said. "It does."

Mahtab had taught him to shoot his first bow. She'd hoisted him onto her shoulders and sprinted around the palace, roaring like a wyvern, back when Claude was still too small to be a threat. Well—no matter which way this went, he'd get a lot of practice killing old friends, he was sure. 

"Well, I suppose I’m not one to question anyone’s methods," she said.

\- 

Whenever Judith said "in the morning," she meant "at the crack of dawn, and not one moment later." It was chilly, and he made his way up to the guest quarters in a heavy uniform sweater, emblazoned with the Golden Deer's coat of arms over his breast. From the room across the hall from Judith's, Holst padded out in a knee-length purple robe, headed for the guest baths, his perfect jaw unshaven. Claude paused to watch a miracle of nature pass by him, and then slid into Judith's room. 

Judith was already up and composed, drinking a cup of what Claude prayed was coffee in front of the tall window. She always had the good stuff. Even Nader had approved of it. Judith's grandmother had been an Almyran noblewoman, come to Fódlan and married into the Daphnel family back when the border conflicts had been a little cooler. The grand old lady had passed a decade before Claude found out he was a Riegan, but from stories of the dowager Countess Daphnel, she had been a battleaxe. Claude had the feeling he would have liked her. If nothing else, he could have talked to someone who spoke his own language. 

It was dark out on the mountain, and the outbuildings in the distance—the granaries, the smithies, the dormitories where the clerics and scholars lived—were still lit by magical lights. 

"Are you sure about this, boy?" she asked without preamble. She poured him out a cup of coffee from her service, and indicated that he should sit across from her. 

"At first, it was either with her or thrown off the side of a mountain by her," Claude replied. "She talked me around."

"You could have just snitched to Lady Rhea, but instead you decided to drag the whole Leicester Alliance into a war."

"The Alliance was going to get dragged into war no matter what we did. We're just doing it on our terms, instead of waiting around and bickering. People will still follow you, even if you're not one of the five great lords anymore."

"Whereas you're a nobody from the Barony of Nowhere, as far as the Alliance is concerned. Some people are going to say that you're just using this to make yourself consequential." 

"They're not wrong," Claude replied. "Baron Nowhere here is going to be Duke Riegan sooner or later." 

"And Oswald isn't dying any time soon. I notice that he didn't get one of your little invitations to Garreg Mach." 

With Judith, it was best to be honest. "I'm backing him into a corner so he'll have to commit," he said. "I don't know if you'd noticed, but the state of things in the Alliance is so bad now because he _doesn't_ commit, ever. All I've done is make a little conversation happen." 

"Goddess help us all when you succeed Oswald," Judith grumbled. "Either we're all going to be rich, or we're all going to be dead. But, boy...."

"Yeah?"

"It's not too late to get you out of this," she said. "We can still go to Lady Rhea and tell her everything. If she’s got something over you—" 

"Believe me, I think about it all the time," he said. "She was going to kill me for finding out what she's up to. Now… it's different."

"Your Edelgard has a sound plan," she said. "Little Holst was right, there are far worse generals than Count Bergliez. He's got as much imagination as the Goddess gave a bucket of wyvern shit—the business with Nuvelle, you know, ugly battle—but he'll do." 

Claude did not, in fact, know about the business with Nuvelle, but he made his face look thoughtful. 

"Now, as for Little Holst," she said. "For the Empire, it's a quick march through Ordelia territory to the Goneril manor. I'm sure he'll agree," Judith said, "as long as you swear on your life that you'll keep his sister safe from all harm." 

Holst appeared in the doorway, still in that purple robe, his damp pink hair curling on his shoulders. Had the robe been that short twenty minutes ago? Claude turned his gaze back to his coffee. 

"Or I'll tear your little twig arms off your body," Holst said. "You seem like a nice kid. Hilda's a good judge of character. Shame she just uses that to get out of work, but she'll come around when there's something to be serious about. I asked her about Edelgard last night, and she said good things, too"—Hilda had nothing nice to say about Edelgard, so far as Claude could tell, except that Edelgard was very nice to Raphael—"which helps. Now, I'm not basing my decision completely on my baby sister's opinions, but they don't hurt."

"So, tell me, boy," Judith said. "What's in this for you? And for once in your life, tell the whole truth."

Claude looked from one of them to the other. Holst had gone inscrutable again. Judith had a challenge in her eyes.

"I wasn't exactly raised within the Church of Seiros," Claude said. "There are places out there that don't feel its influence, you know. I don't care whether it's in power or not, or whether Fódlan is a land blessed by its Goddess, but I do care that it holds Fódlan back from its full potential. The Alliance could be so much more. We could all be so much more—if we were just willing to reach out our hands to each other. Edelgard reached out her hand to me and I decided to take it, for the Alliance's sake, for House Riegan's, and for my own."

"Well, Auntie," Holst said, "the kid sure can give a speech."

"Cute," said Judith. She didn't look unimpressed.

"That's all I've got." Claude drained the last of his coffee cup. "If you're going to say no and go to the Church about this, you should tell me now and give me a head start running back home."

"I'd like to restore my family's prestige before I die and leave my title to my idiot niece," Judith said. "You should have started with the idealism and ended with the bribes. Why should I care about Lúin? It's been gone for generations."

"I'm in," Holst added. "If my barons and counts don't have Almyrans to fight, they start eyeing up the big, dukedom-shaped prize, which is me. May as well turn them all at the Church for a few years."

"Noted," Claude said. "I—thanks, both of you."

"Don't thank me," Holst said, "thank Margrave Edmund's loan." Then he spread his legs very wide and threw his arms up on the back of the couch.

Once again, Claude found his coffee very interesting. Holst couldn't know what he was doing.

"Try to go three more months without causing any more problems," Judith said. "Can you manage that?" 

"Yes, ma'am," said Claude. 

"Good. Tell your little friend to come see us at noon." 

Claude left. He ran all the way back to the dormitories, and he banged on Edelgard's door, heedless of who saw or heard. The noise had Hubert and Hilda opening their respective doors. When they saw it was Claude, Hilda rolled her eyes, and Hubert glared. Both of them went back into their rooms. 

At last, Edelgard opened her door, dressed in a pair of trousers and a long-sleeved shirt a size too large for her, and squinted up at him. 

"Claude," she said. She had a blue-handled dagger in her left hand. "What is the meaning of this—" 

"They want to speak with you again," he said. 

She blinked, uncomprehending. Then she adjusted her shirt with her free hand so the hem lay straight. "Thank you," she said. 

"Don't thank me yet, Judith wants to see us again at noon. She just wanted to make sure you weren't holding a knife to my throat to get me to set this up." 

"Do _you_ feel as though I'm holding a knife to your throat?" 

"You were pretty close just now," said Claude, and glanced down the hallway. Felix had opened up his door, dressed for training, and he inclined his head to Claude. 

Claude fidgeted his way through his morning classes, and when the noon hour arrived, he skipped white magic practice to slip off to the guest quarters. Edelgard was already there, seated on the couch and wincing her way through a cup of coffee. Holst was cleanly shaving and perfectly dressed, which made him even more distracting, and Judith had an even bigger sword on her hip than she'd had yesterday.

They got started. Frankly, Claude was a little superfluous.

No, neither Judith nor Holst were very devout, and the Eastern Church, independent of the Central Church, had for hundreds of years asked uncomfortably large tithes from Alliance nobles in exchange for its recognition of the Alliance's legitimacy. Yes, they could muster troops, and easily. No, Edelgard did not _need_ those troops. In sheer numbers she outstripped the Knights of Seiros, and could surely at least make the Kingdom's lords nervous.

"And besides all of this, Claude has been very persuasive," Edelgard said. "He's the one who convinced me that it would be wiser to work with the Alliance, instead of allowing it to stew in its own juices and come to a boil. I've valued his advice and support these long months, and I look forward to him becoming Duke Riegan."

She looked up at him with admiration—adoration, even—on her face. It looked pretty convincing, from someone whose resting expression was sort of vaguely superior.

"I doubt all that, but you two are planning this at Garreg Mach," Judith said. "That takes pegasus-sized balls. I want you to march through Alliance farmland even less than you want to march through it, so we can talk."

-

Edelgard worked specifics out with Judith and Holst by some channels that weren't any of Claude's business, and which he couldn't suss out, regardless of any spying on his part. Nader passed along a months-old letter from Claude's mother, wishing him good luck in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. The rest of the month passed without incident, until Professor Byleth's father was killed by the same forces that had kidnapped Flayn and destroyed Remire. 

That ruined the whole monastery's mood, to say the absolute least. When Claude tried to ask about it, Edelgard would not speak: she would only say that it had not been a necessary death, and that she would see the pain that was inflicted on Professor Byleth returned tenfold. 

"She'd hate me if she knew," Edelgard said. "My teacher... perhaps she wouldn't. Perhaps she'd understand. I do hope she understands." 

And that was the last Edelgard spoke of it. Claude didn't pry. He was already more than committed, and a lot more people would die before this was over. 

Professor Byleth, for her part, walked around the monastery for the next two months looking like she was going to burst into tears at any moment. For entire days at a time, however, she stalked around the monastery like she was ready to pave the road from Enbarr to Derdriu with bodies. Her face just turned _off_ when she was teaching classes and practices, though, and that was the worst thing of all. It was like having a very frightening chair tell you to watch your footwork. She ordered Claude to move back up to advanced axe practice with as much emotion as she would wipe her nose. 

"Poor girl," Professor Manuela said, when Claude reported to her on Professor Byleth's behavior. "The manner of the death, the oddities...."

"Yeah?" Claude asked, taking up a rag to dust off a shelf. How Professor Manuela let it get so messy in here, he had no idea. 

"A strange weapon," Manuela said. The infirmary was closed, and she was already a drink or two in. "Not of Fódlan make. And Hanneman tested Captain Jeralt's blood post-mortem." She sighed in disgust and took up her glass. "Can you imagine? That man has no boundaries. But we did discover that Jeralt bore the Major Crest of Seiros." 

The Crest stuff just got stranger and stranger. Edelgard frowned when Claude told her of it, and confirmed that any children born on the wrong side of the blankets with a Crest of Seiros were legitimated very quickly, and that she couldn't think of a Major Crest turning up outside the royal line or its cadet branches in the past century. That gave Claude two examples of two different Crests showing up in the same family: first Seteth and Flayn, and now Jeralt and Professor Byleth. 

When Claude asked Seteth about him and Flayn, Seteth shrugged one shoulder, and moved a piece of paper from a pile on the left of his desk to a pile one the right. "I cannot say why the Goddess chose to bless Flayn and myself with our Crests," he said. "But do have a seat, Claude. There's something I've been meaning to discuss with you." 

Claude had a seat. "Whatever it is, I didn't do it." 

"I don't mean your latest little prank," Seteth said, which could have meant any of ten or so things. "You and Edelgard seem to have become quite close. I trust you aren't involving the future Emperor of Adrestia in any of your little plots?"

 _If only you knew, buddy,_ Claude thought, and slapped a smile on his face. "Somehow, I don't think she'd fall for them," he said.

Seteth steepled his fingers. "No, she seems like a clever girl. You're all here to forge bonds between your nations—this Academy class, most especially—and I suppose you should be commended for reaching out your hand, considering."

"Considering?"

"Your upbringing."

"I don't know what you mean, sir," Claude said.

"Twenty-four ago, Tiana von Riegan, last bearer of the Crest of Riegan, disappeared without a trace. A Riegan with a Crest, eighteen years of age, has conveniently shown up at Garreg Mach. It is my job to know such things," said Seteth. "Considering Almyra's disposition toward the Alliance, I'm surprised one of its princes is attending the Officer's Academy."

"Travel broadens the mind, right?" Claude said.

Seteth looked blankly at that. Not a big traveler, huh. "To that end," he said, "I do wonder why you introduced Edelgard to Countess Daphnel and Duke Goneril when they visited the monastery."

"Oh, that," Claude said. He swallowed hard and did his best to keep his breathing even. He didn't have Hilda here to start crying at an opportune moment, and anyway, that bit had stopped working a month and a half ago. This was an easy lie, he just had to keep a straight face: "Judith and Holst were coming to visit me and Hilda," he said, "so I figured I'd introduce Edelgard to them, you know, forging bonds and all that. It went pretty well."

Seteth frowned. "Duke Goneril rarely leaves his land these days." 

"Maybe it's all the stuff that's happened this year," Claude said. "He does love Hilda. He seemed nice?" 

"He was an excellent student. And, indeed, these are troubling times for everyone. However—I will remind you that politicking is highly discouraged at the Officer's Academy. I know that your year here is almost finished, but you have come to Garreg Mach to learn in peace, in the company of your peers from all nations, and to do good works in the Church of Seiros's name. Do you understand?

Claude nodded solemnly, nothing to see here, _definitely_ not an Almyran prince plotting with the Imperial Princess to overthrow the Church of Seiros, no sir.

"You're dismissed, then," Seteth said.

Claude left Seteth's office, walked calmly until he was on the steps, made sure he was alone, and then, and only then, did he let out one loud, barking laugh. Then he buried his face in his hands and wiped them over his skin, slowly, until he calmed down. Of course he hadn't been careful enough. Of course he'd gotten cocky, and if there had been someone eavesdropping on the room, Edelgard's plans were blown. But Seteth hadn't seemed as though he was fishing for information—

He had to stop. Back home, he'd liked to think he did his best work on the edge like this. In truth, it was just tiring. Nearly two years of not having to worry about whether this was going to be the day a cousin finally poisoned him, or a stablehand got paid off to cut the reins on his wyvern so he fell to his death, had done wonders for his clarity of mind. Still, the paranoia felt familiar and comfortable, like drawing an old bow. 

"Seteth heard about our meeting with Judith and Holst," Claude said to Edelgard, as soon as he could get her alone in her room the next evening. "Think he's onto us?" 

"If he was," Edelgard said, "it wouldn't matter." 

She didn't explain further. He'd found her sitting on her bed, cleaning the first of a pair of well-used axes. Her armor, laid out on the floor, gleamed in the candlelight. 

"Going somewhere?" Claude asked. 

"Tomorrow, the Black Eagles march to the Sealed Forest," she said. "We're going to take vengeance for Captain Jeralt's death." 

"You know, that sounds like a terrible idea. Are your bosses—" 

"My associates." 

"Your associates going to be mad at you for, I don't know, meddling?" 

"If my teacher means to eliminate one of their number, why, how could I stop her without seeming suspicious?" Edelgard replied, with a rare, nasty smile. "And if I should happen to strike the killing blow myself.... It has the stink of a trap, but with the professor at our side, we'll be able to overcome any odds, I'm sure." 

"Great," he said. Everyone had so much faith in Professor Byleth. It didn't seem unwarranted, at least. "Want me to clean your other axe?" he asked. "Burden shared, burden halved." 

Edelgard's smile softened. "By all means," she said, handing him her axe and an oil-soaked rag. 

As always, the axe was heavier than it looked, to account for Edelgard's raw strength. He sat on her floor with it laid across his lap, leaning against her bed, in an easy silence with her. It felt good to have ten whole minutes with Edelgard without any plotting. For the first time since he'd left Seteth's office the day before, he relaxed. Behind him, Edelgard hummed as she worked; in another world, maybe they could have even been real friends. 

And then the task was over, and he handed the axe back up to her. "Good luck out there," Claude said. "Don't get yourself killed, okay? I'll be waiting."

"You needn't concern yourself," Edelgard said. "Everything will be fine." 

-

Everything was not fine. 

Word spread quickly that Edelgard had carried an unconscious Professor Byleth back to the monastery, and that Professor Byleth was resting in Lady Rhea's quarters, but none of the Black Eagles, not even Linhardt, would talk about it in detail. In a pinch, Hilda could usually get Caspar and Ferdinand to do whatever she wanted them to, but that well was dry, too. 

Professor Byleth showed up to morning axe practice with new hair and eyes, and a weird sense of peace about her. By the end of the day, Ferdinand had cracked: not to Hilda's wiles, but to Claude's passing questions. Ferdinand spoke comfortably with him, as though he'd accepted Claude as part of Edelgard's orbit. Claude hadn't noticed that happening, but he and Edelgard did spend a lot of time working together in axe practice.

By the morning after that, someone else talked, and everyone knew the story: how Professor Byleth had been sealed up in eternal darkness by the evil mage Solon, how she'd cut her way back into the world, and how she was either an incarnation of the Goddess, the recipient of a divine revelation from the Goddess, or actually, literally the Goddess. That made one or two things make more sense, like why some lost Crest had shown up in her blood, and why she could wield a sword called _the Sword of the Creator._

In Fódlan, they loved to pretend like completely impossible things were normal, so for once, he didn't make a nuisance of himself. When Professor Byleth caught him outside the Cathedral, he only said that she'd always seemed special, and left it at that. 

"All this stuff going on, and we're about to graduate, _and_ Hubert's missing," Hilda said to him over one day, and seemed bummed out about any or all of those things. "He told me he was going to the capital, and that was it. Nobody seems to notice." 

Claude had noticed, but nobles got called away on urgent family business all the time. Edelgard and Professor Byleth had even been gone for a weekend. Never Hubert, though. "He's not exactly popular," Claude said. "Want me to ask Edelgard about it?" 

"If I wanted to know, I'd just ask her myself, thanks," she replied. 

"After graduation, are you going to go back home?" he asked. "Or are you going to...." _Stay and fight for the Empire, supposing this goes off_. 

Hilda shrugged. "My brother wants me to stay with you. He also wants me to write him every day. We'll see how that works out!" 

"He seemed nice when I talked to him." 

"It's okay, you can say it," Hilda said, her voice dropping. "He's really, really good looking. I know. It’s just one more way he's completely perfect." 

"He was all right," Claude said, and took a second to think on just how short that robe had been. "You're much better looking." 

Hilda sniffed and took that as her due, and stole his dessert for good measure. 

Still, this close to the fruition of whatever Edelgard's plans were, it was weird for her shadow to be missing. After some hunting on a free day, Claude found her on a low battlement well outside the marketplace, staring out over the rolling, barren foothills. It had been a light winter so far—by Almyran standards—with unseasonably warm days and icy rains that made practice battles miserable slogs, much like real battles, Claude supposed. From here, he could see the broad pilgrim's road leading up the monastery from the town, and even pick out a few travelers: yet another noble and their retinue that everyone would have to rush to deal with. Merchants from Morfis with their somber green carts. A group of clerics in dusty robes, with a Knight of Seiros on horseback as their escort. 

"Hubert went back to Enbarr to oversee a bit of cleaning in the palace," Edelgard said, when Claude asked about him. Sure, that didn't sound ominous. "Why, do you miss him?" 

"Hilda's withering without somebody tall to pick on. I don't exactly fit the description, you know?"

"You're taller than her, at least," she replied. 

"That's a pretty low bar to clear," Claude said, and opened his mouth to joke about how Edelgard herself was exactly three axes tall, but something in her eyes as she watched the road stopped him. She looked weary. 

"Claude," Edelgard said, and took his hand in her small, pale one. "I'm sure you know Professor Byleth and I traveled to Enbarr recently." 

"Yeah," he said. "Is the Emperor okay?" 

"I'm the Emperor now," she said, still staring out at the road. 

"Oh." When he'd imagined this day, he'd imagined it years from now, around the time he took his title, after they'd won the war. Duke Riegan and Emperor Edelgard, side by side, the soaring eagle and the cunning deer. So much for that. He squeezed her hand. "Do you congratulate someone for becoming ruler of a third of the continent?" he asked. 

"I'll take it regardless," she said. 

"Did you have to murder anyone?"

"My father is very, very old," Edelgard said. "After the Insurrection, and its fallout—well, he was glad to step down. I'm confident that the rest of my ministers will make the correct choice. Furthermore...."

She trailed off, and released his hand, to set both of hers flat on the battlement wall. In the shallow sea of people beneath them, one of the clerics was hoisting herself onto the Knight of Seiros's horse. The noble's retinue came to a halt for some reason or another. The merchants from Morfis continued on. Claude turned back to Edelgard, watching her shadowed face.

"My teacher will be receiving a revelation from the Goddess at the end of the month. The Black Eagles have been invited to attend her at the Holy Tomb."

"That doesn't make any sense," Claude said, "especially if she _is_ the Goddess, or whatever the deal is. Also, what's the Holy Tomb?"

"I'm not sure. These were Rhea's words, as they were related to me. But, Claude"—she turned away from the road to face him directly—"when we arrive, I intend to declare myself against the Church of Seiros."

"Okay, you move fast."

"And I want you to be at my side when I do so." 

Because she didn't yet trust him. To keep an eye on him. To cut off his final way to weasel out of this. As a tangible sign of the Alliance's commitment to her goal, which it wasn't, yet, but it would be eventually. "Why?" he asked.

"You have had every opportunity to betray me," Edelgard said. "Destroying me would have been an easy path to distinction for you. You could have worked with the Church of Seiros—you could have said something to Hanneman when you found me that day. You did not. At every step, you took the difficult path. In one fell swoop, you could have dissipated any lingering doubts about your origins or your competence, or whether you belonged."

He'd chosen Edelgard over and over again., that much was true. She was a mirror to his own ambitions, and he did like looking at himself. He also liked the Alliance not getting invaded, not that she wouldn’t still do it anyway after all his work; but he had to have a little faith. 

"Are you saying you trust me?" Claude asked. 

"No, not at all," said Edelgard. "But you've delivered me results. That's what matters. Bringing Duke Goneril all the way to Garreg Mach was a bit much for a prank; you could have promised something much smaller, or simply done nothing."

"Well, you're wrong about one thing, Princess," he said. 

"Oh?"

"If I'd turned you in, it wouldn't have made me belong," he said. "People know I'm not around from here, even if they don't want to think about it. I'll always be suspicious to them for some reason or another, Crest or no Crest. It's like Cyril: there's _one_ good Almyran, and that's it. He's the exception, not the rule. I don't want to be the exception."

She blinked. Of course she wouldn't understand. He didn't expect her to. If he'd just sounded a little emotional, well, seeing Judith had brought it out in him.

"Anyway," he began, just to move on from whatever that had been, but she touched his forearm. 

"Stand by me," she said. "See this through to the end. I'll cut a path for you, too." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find your pal PD on twitter at @a_printersdevil.


End file.
